A/N: I wrote this fanfic because I truly believe that Klaus would be much better with Isadora than with Fiona.

Our story is just that, a story; tragic in a delicious sort of way to those with a wicked sense of humour, or just a saddening, pathetic tale to everyone else.

She's the wicked one, really, secretly finding my being pathetic just uproarious. She thinks I don't see that devilish smirk on her face as I watch her in her garden. And I suppose she is devilish as well, because she knows how that smirk taunts me. Her lips, pale and petal soft, tease and mock and jeer at me, and all I can do is watch.

And she knows it.

There is a start to our story, and that's not it.

When I wasn't so awkward and she wasn't so wicked, it all felt like a dream it was so perfect. We'd swirl around, climb in and out of each other, bound ourselves around that word that held us.

And then she started a garden, she said, to express her joy and that one word that held us together so. Blossoms exploded and everything grew, just like us. Extraordinary colors appeared daily, stunning and glowing and she said it all represented us.

"Symbolism," she said, "for you are my garden. I take care of you and make everything perfect between us."

And I believed her. I think.

The garden grew taller than both of us, even though neither of us is terribly tall. I spent longer and longer hours watching her, not allowed to speak, for she said it distracted her and angered the flowers. And to anger the flowers would anger me.

It was agony, watching her while the longing and desire and yearning grew larger than any garden. She ignored me for her colourful weeds and yet I could not force myself to turn away.

And one day I whisper, "I need you". Because I did, after all that waiting and craving her sweet scent.

Only she is a twisted and dark and sinister girl indeed, and she chuckles at this. She plucks a deep red rose from her garden and extends her arm in my direction.

"Take this rose," she licks her lips at me, "and hold it as if it were me."

I grasp it lightly. The rose's thorns graze my hand.

"Tighter," she says more fiercely," you said you want me. Hold it as if it's me."

And so I do. I hold the rose as if it's her. I want her so badly. I squeeze the rose, its thorns burying into my hand, harder and harder. The more it hurts, the harder I squeeze, because it's what she tells me to do.

I don't know how long we stand there, but at last the stem snaps in my grasp. I wince and let go, having to pull the flower thorns out of my hand. I shake, staring at the red holes left in my palm. And then she grabs my hand.

As I cringe, her name is pushed out of my mouth, "Fiona."

"Oh Klaus," she chuckles, "this proves it. I'm the only one you have left and you know it. I am the gardener. I am in control."

I try to recoil, but her lips are on my. She's like a drug, and I forget the rose. I forget the forming scars. Because I want her, I need her.

Fiona.

She tortures me by working in the garden every day. And every day I just sit and watch her because I'm pathetic like that. And I know that she is the devil; a wicked, cruel and sinister girl. Only I cannot remember anyone else. I am lost with her, but would be even more lost without.

It is her or nothing

"Klaus," she will sometimes ask me, "what is the reason you watch me in the garden every day?"

And I always reply weakly, "Love."

At this, Fiona laughs icily, sending sharp chills down my spine."Really," she then says, "I would call it obsession."

x0

Vintage88