The rusted, metal door groaned as it was slowly pushed open. Only a small amount of light shone into the room, from a tiny window at the top of the north facing wall. Klaus stood still for a long moment in the doorway, looking in the dark room. No one ever came into this room. Even Caroline left him alone when he was in there.
It was where he painted.
But the room had been neglected for years now. Klaus would often paint, and after Caroline became a permanent figure in his life, he found the inspiration to paint the most beautiful things more than ever before. And over the decades of their time together, she had convinced him to put some of the painting into galleries and museums of the whole world to admire. All of that was gone now...
After Caroline died, Klaus never went into that room. Locked the door and never looked back. He returned to his ancient ways of twisted humor and thoughtless murders. She wasn't there to stop him now. Wasn't there to keep him sane. He lost his inspiration, and so lost his way.
Now, over seven years later, he stood, filled with nothing but grief and loss. He didn't cry, he wouldn't allow it. He simply flicked the switch on the wall, and let the bulb in the center of the ceiling fill the room with light. The room was exactly how it had been left, paint on the shelves, brushes in empty pots...
He took a slow step into the room, carrying a new and clean canvas under his arm. He grabbed an old stand to put it on, and stood as he began splashing paint onto it. He didn't take his eyes off the canvas as he moved. The only time he did was when he had to mix the paints; getting the perfect colours and shades. It didn't take long for the image to become clear, and Klaus picked up a thinner brush, adding the details which brought the painting to life.
When he had finished, he threw the palette and the brush to the side and took a step back. The image before him was the perfect snapshot from his memory.
Caroline stood before him, under the fairy light that were wrapped around the wooden posts of a garden in England. Her hair was pinned back elegantly, and she was wearing the deep blue dress she brought in Paris on one of their visits. Through out there time together, she forever claimed it to be her favourite dress. It fitted her perfectly, and had a line of silver jewels and beads under her breasts, and the same jewels created a flower just over her waist. She was stood with a hand on her hip, with the wicked gleam in her eyes Klaus often received.
Klaus closed his eyes, and the memory of that night flashed before him. He had compelled their way into a strangers party, and the couple had drank and danced and laughed, before deciding to wonder through the gardens. Tiny lights twinkled, guiding them along a path to which neither knew where it lead. After a while he took her hand and pulled her closer to him. And they danced to the tune they could hear from the house, under the lights and the cool breeze surrounding them.
The century old painting now hung proudly in The Louvre, and was admired by thousands of tourists. And every year, Klaus would visit the painting on Caroline's birthday.
And every year, after the painting had been put on display, Klaus would ignore Elena, Stefan, Bonnie and even Damon, who stood on the other side of the room in memory of their friend.