A/N: I've been very sad since last night's The Originals' episode and this drabble is just a way for me to get through it. Dedicated to all of you that are sad too.

The very thought of you and I forget to do
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do
I'm living in a kind of daydream
I'm happy as a king
And foolish though it may seem
To me that's everything

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
It's just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love

Her ghost haunted him wherever he went. Sometimes it would be in the bounce of the way a woman walked as she met her friend across the quarter, or the swing of someone's hips dancing in one of Marcel's establishments, or perhaps the familiar Virginian hilt of a tourist checking out the sites, she was everywhere and he felt as if he was constantly chasing after her.

And now, when the bartender walked into the ball, her dress pure white, and the light surrounding her, it all took him back to a similar entrance at his mother's ball which felt like years ago, he couldn't help but hope it was her. He kept expecting her to turn up everywhere: a dark alley, a crowded street, his heart leapt whenever he would see a blonde head and now before him, Camille resembled Caroline so much that he just wanted her to look at him, smile at him, touch him so that he could feel connected to Caroline again.

She's a pawn, he reminded himself, as she smiled at him and looked at him with awe, resting into comfortable conversation with him. She referred to Rebekah as a 'bitch' and he could not help but think that she did not know how truly 'bitchy' Rebekah could be. Her playful innocence reminding him of a similar blonde begging him to help him find a dress, such a trivial thing to talk to an Original Hybrid about. And he laughed, his mind constantly flipping to Caroline, to what could have been if she never known of his transgressions, of his past, if it their relationship was just as easy and comfortable as it was in his living room that day.

When Camille witnessed Marcel's outburst, he knew he had to speak to her, she was detrimental to his plan and he liked all his loose ends tied. And as he spoke to her and he listened to her, a part of him wondered if it might have been like this if Caroline had given him a chance. She was a substitute, she was a prop but in that moment, she was Caroline. She was Caroline leaning in for a kiss, Caroline caring about him, Caroline wanting to talk to him, and he let himself pretend.

He stopped himself before it got out of control, but not before giving her some hope, some initiative to remain loyal to him, to see him in a good light before compelling her to return to Marcel. Because she was not Caroline, she could not even compare, she was a human forced to play the role of a distraction to Marcel and his mind had tricked itself into making her a Caroline-substitute. But no matter how many replicas his eyes could see, his ears could hear, his mind could conjure, his heart was reserved for Caroline alone.

A/N: Tell me how terrible it was in the reviews, also come share your sadness with me on Tumblr at carolinemykhaleesi