"I love those who can smile when troubled, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. It's the business of little minds to shrink, but those whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles unto death."

-Leonardo Da Vinci-

Slowly, they began the procession down the rain-soaked road.

Carefully, those in the second line began to twirl their umbrellas, so as not to splash water on the grieving immortals in the front of them as they ambled behind the carted remains of their friend in true New Orleans fashion.

Heads held high, they marched, as onlookers and those behind them celebrated the life of Camille O'Connell. Though none except a sparse few knew the truth of how she died, today they remembered not her death but the way she impacted each of their lives.

None more so than Klaus.

He had very few people in this world that he could trust and even less that truly understood him, and now he would have one less. For him, this was one more reason to add to the long list of why he shouldn't strive to be loved.

It was the same tragic story every time for over 1000 years. To love him was to mark yourself for death.

It was only by sheer will, and over a thousand years of practice, was he able to school his features to not show his grief. To those that knew him, however, would only have to look into his eyes to see the truth of the depths of his despair.

He felt neither rain nor winds on his skin, just the icy grip of a love lost before it truly ever had the chance to fully bloom.

Looking ahead of him, he walked leisurely with his brother on one side and Hayley on the other, as they made their way to the burial ground. He adjusted the buttons on his expensive tailored suit as they walked past the gates of St. Louis cemetery.

There they would bury her next to her uncle Kieran, listen as prayers were said in her honor and watch as her body was placed into its final resting place and bricked shut.

Placing his hand to the casket, as the craftsman prepared his tools and mixed the cement, Klaus smiled sadly, and whispered. "Goodbye Camille." Sounding even to his own ears hollow and broken, and so unlike his downright dastardly self.

Being an immortal, he had seen more deaths than anyone, more than half of those were of people who didn't deserve the fate, that their only crime was of circumstance. If not by his hand most of those deaths had happened because of him, just like Camille's had been.

Sluggishly, he stepped away from the coffin and made his way back towards the gates of the cemetery. Yet, a firm but gentle hand placed upon his shoulder stilled his movements.

"Brother—" began Elijah, sympathetically. However, Klaus interrupted whatever profound sentiments had been about to leave the elder Mikaelson's lips.

"I'm allowing myself one day. One day—to drown my sorrows in bourbon and New Orleans' blues. Come tomorrow I'll put away my grief and focus on something more—me," he spoke quietly. Smirking slightly, he added. "I believe that Camille would encourage this outlet more so than my usual way of dealing with things. Don't you think Elijah?"

Not waiting for a response, he left the graveyard and headed straight for Bourbon Street.

Stopping at the first familiar bar that caught his eye, Rousseau's.

Still clad in the dress she'd worn to Club Paradise, Arsetti's heels clicked across the cobblestone sidewalk of Bourbon Street. She needed to get out of the manor for a while and what better way then to explore a city she hadn't seen in four years. Maybe even see some of those problems her cousin and regent had mentioned.

It had taken a few hours for Vincent and Fe' to fill her in on a couple of the things that had happened in the city since she left—then a few more for Bianca and Aura to leave the manor with the promise of checking on her soon. Vincent had then excused himself so that he could attend a private memorial for one of his fallen friends. Though he did not reveal the name of said fallen friend, Arsetti had a feeling it may have been some one caught in the crossfire of all he had told her tonight.

It had taken over an hour before she had found the keys to her car among the many inside the cabinet of the manor's massive garage. Her grandmother had a vast collection of cars spanning from an original model T to the more modern Bentley coupe, and everything in between.

All of them kept in great condition, but none of them hers. Even though they were technically considered to be just that, as they too were a part of her inheritance. She still desired to be behind the wheel of the car she had picked out herself.

Having driven it only a handful of times before she had departed the city, she was anxious to get behind the wheel of her cherry red Tesla. Her grandmother had insisted when she bought it that hand-stitched magnolias be engraved into the seats lining. Which shimmered gold in the otherwise black interior. In hindsight, she understood now why he grandmother had been so insistent.

The ride into town was smooth.

Despite the rain sodden roads, her car glided over the weather worn street without so much as a dip from the many potholes scattered throughout the roadway. Though it had taken almost an hour to get to the French quarter, she enjoyed the ride.

Eyes scanning first left than right, she made her way across the water slicked street. Nightfall had begun to set in upon the already drearily dark day, as the French quarter bustled with evening activity and tourists looking for fun and adventure.

However, according to Vincent that wasn't all some of them would be getting. At the thought of the club he spoke of, and what tends to happen after midnight, she shivered. Not surprised in the least, but still slightly disturbed by the open feeding he had described.

Though she would have rather continued to live her carefree lifestyle in Miami, she was determined to be as active as she could now that she was the Queen, and that started with seeing how things were running in the quarter.

Cautiously, she stepped up onto the sidewalk, mindful of the puddle just below it and smiled at the neon blue light of Rousseau's.

The door, propped open by a rubber stopper, was just as welcoming as it had been four years ago. Music and laughter filtered out into the streets, as clinking glasses and scooting chairs added to the bar's boisterous ambiance.

Grinning at the familiarity of it all, she crossed over the threshold and made her way to the bar.

Rousseau's bright lights drew attention to her magnolia tattoos as the blossoms swayed gently, a clear indicator of her supernatural nature. She had been surprised when she caught her reflection in the manor's full mirror, that most of the blossoms and there branches, had faded from most of her body. All of the lynched skeletons were gone. Now, as she gazed at herself from the reflective surface of the bar—what she could see of her body remains only thinly spread branches and scattered blossoms that ran up both arms and the side of her neck.

Fe had told her that the branches would spread, and more blossoms would appear if she were to use her powers or cast spells. However, when she asked him about the skeletons with the distorted faces, he informed her that they to could and would reappear, purposely leaving out when—or even how.

She could feel eyes on her as she walked—hear people murmur among themselves but she tried to pay it no mind as she quietly took a seat on the stool in next to her. She was more than positive that word had already gotten around amongst the witches. A new Queen after 254 years was definitely something gossip worthy.

They had easily respected her wish to not have a parade and something told her that Vincent had a lot to do with that. However, she had to wonder if they would also allow her to keep the low profile she was desperately aiming for.

Once seated, she ordered a drink and decided to begin observing. Eyes scanning the crowd, she was surprised when a waitress carrying drinks and food approached her.

"A gift, my Queen," she spoke lowly and respectfully. Placing the dishes and drinks onto the the table, she took Arsetti's hand in hers and bowed before her.

Caught off guard, the young Queen quickly scanned the crowd nervously. Before her eyes more and more witches began to bow.

'So much for being anonymous or keeping a low profile,' she thought sardonically.

Eyeing as, one by one, more witches approached her baring small offerings, drinks, or food. Some had even taken off the jewelry they wore to gift it to her.

Embarrassed at their display of affections, She looked away. Only for her eyes to lock onto the blue-eyed inebriated stare of a dirty blonde gentlemen, who looked anything but human.

His eyes were curious and calculating, though clearly red from the effects of the booze he drank. Empty glasses littered his table, nearly covering it completely. He was dressed in an all-black suit and if she had to guess it all added up to one thing, he had probably come from a funeral as well.

Time seemed to stop for a moment as they stared at one another. There was no music. No bowing witches giving her offerings. Nor, bustling waitresses carrying trays of food and drinks.

There was nothing.

It was then that his lips tilted into a cunning smirk and broke the spell that had held her both curious and captive of the elusive stranger.

With that, he turned his head away from her and finished his drink in one gulp—completely dismissing her presence, as the witches continued to excitedly gift her their offerings.