It takes almost three minutes each time he comes back, to drown again.

Three agonizingly long minutes to some.

Three beautifully short minutes to him.

For in those three minutes, he can picture her in his mind. Feel her urging him to hold on, to make it through.

Although he knows there will never be an end to this.

He will continue to drown for all of eternity. Trapped where he can't get to her. Trapped where he can't end the pain his sister is no doubt in.

In those three minutes, he can feel her hand touching the side of his face.

Her sweet smile staring up into his eyes.

And as those three minutes wind down and the water fills up his lungs, he worries.

Whatever torture she is being put through, whatever misery surrounds her, she will not be able to bare it.

She needs him there, to take care of her.

He needs to administer her medication, calm her soul, ease her mind. Without him, his sister's grief and anger will overtake her. Drive her mad.

This is his greatest fear, as he drowns at the bottom of the sea, not of his own endless suffering.

His greatest fear is that his sister must face the world without him.

Then it is nothing but stillness.

And soon it begins again.

She screams and claws the bricks until her nails are ripped and her fingertips gush blood.

She cries until her vision is so blurry she can no longer see into the darkness.

I love you.

The last three words she is afraid ever hear from her sweet brother's lips.

The pain aches in her guts and in the heart she thought she lost long ago.

She didn't even get the chance to say it back to him.

Her protector. Her guardian. Her brother.

She does love him. He is the only one she cares for now.

The only person on this planet who ever truly gave a damn about her.

She sees that clearly, now that it is far too late.

She wishes they had never come to this disgusting town.

She wishes that in her madness, she could have made him see that being together was enough.

Even if the sire prophecy took them all out, they would die as they wished.

Together.

Now neither one will die.

They will suffer.

Alone.

She tries to sketch the outline of Tristan's face with her blood soaked fingers on the exposed brick.

She often hums to herself, lullabies from her childhood.

Songs that Tristan would play for her when she had one of her maddening spells.

Tristan was the only one who could calm her.

She wasted years, centuries, pining after Niklaus Mikaelson.

Dreaming of his face, wishing to feel his touch, his warmth around her.

Now she wants nothing but to see him rot.

She wants the worms to wiggle their way through his skin, as he wishes they would do to her.

She vows, when she no longer has the strength to scream, to make him pay.

All she needs is one person, just one, to find her here.

Just one to set her free.

Then she can make all of this right.

Queen will take the false King.

It will be glorious.

And then Queen will save the true King from the depths of the ocean.

As he has saved her from the depths of her depraved soul, for almost a millennium.