Celia stared at the box on her porch. Pitch black with soft circular shapes and spirals covered finely with a white ribbon tied in a perfect bow, the box seemed to simply appeared in front of the Forbes' house door. However, the brunette girl knew better. Not only did that box looked suspiciously much like the one she received the bracelet in, but no one else in the town would give her a present if there was no special occasion. So whatever she'd find inside, it ought to be from him. Klaus Mikaelson.
The cheriff's youngest daughter pondered leaving the gift where it stood and pretending she never saw it. But on top of it, a small envelope caught her attention and all of a sudden she could no longer wish to ignore the present or the motive behind it.
Inside the envelope, the girl found a handwritten letter: an invitation to a ball at the new in town family's mansion. She read the cursive, elegant, yet careless writing with her lips pressed together. She thought about sending the box and the letter back with a loud refusal, but curiosity got the best of her. So Celia took the gift to her room and opened it. Her hands traced the black patterns, resting a few minutes on the white ribbon before untying the bow and taking off the lid.
At the sight of what was inside, her breath hitched in her throat. She couldn't even form a proper gasp of surprise. Before her eyes, the most beautiful blue dress lied. Celia touched the fabric carefully, amazed by it's color, fine sewing and design. Her dark brown eyes begun to dry as she seemed enchanted by the dress, unable to close them as they took in the stylish masterpiece of clothing.
"Oh, no!" She exclaimed, pulling herself forcefully out of the trance. "You are better than this, Celia. He can't buy you. You are too smart to fall for his tricks." She was home alone, trying hard to reason with herself.
Eventually, the will to wear that dress at least once, at an expensive event won. After all, what girl has never dreamt to be a princess? And Celia would not miss any opportunity to make even her smallest dreams come true – she know she would regret if she did.
Therefore, equipped with a silver bracelet to complete the glowing blue – both coming from the same man – the girl went to the Mikaelson ball where just a little bit earlier, Elena sneaked in the recently revived vampire-mom's office.
Apparently, the doppleganger and Esther came up with a plan to rid the Earth of so called monsters: evil, dark, murderous vampires. Even though she created them, and they were her children, the original witch was more than eager to put an end to the siblings misery. She pretended to tend their wounds and attempt to make the family a whole again when she plot behind their back with townies that want them dead. Only the oldest son – and now Elena Gilbert – knew of her plans.
But ultimately all secrets come out. And in that dreadful night when a mother wished death upon her children, Celia learned the extent of a witch's hypocrisy and double standards. The room hidden and protected by a privacy spell, the curious siphoner allowed herself the right to participate at the discussion. Unfortunately, she didn't hear too much, as the oldest son, always glued to his mother's side – Finn – came back to check on them.
Celia ran downstairs. In the arms of the one and only hybrid she fell, too wary of the vampire, witch, doppleganger trio from upstairs. "Oh, sorry!"
She felt the smirk before she saw it. "Not a problem, love." Klaus took in her appearance, a pleased look gleaming in his eyes as he noticed that she not only wore the dress he bought her, but also the bracelet. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You made it here, I see."
She simply nodded, her mind too crowded by empty thoughts to form a proper response. However, Celia regained her cool quick enough and looked Klaus in the eyes. "Don't let it get to your head. I am only here in lack of something better to do."
And there it was: the fire, brave, rebellious soul picking up to nudge him. She might have fallen into his arms due to her rush on the stairs, but – as she put it in – Celia was too smart to be seduced by him. At least not yet. But he intended to change her mind a little bit that night.
"You look lovely", he complimented.
"Thanks."
"Perhaps I can persuade you into joining me for a dance? Just to make sure you do not think of my mother's party as a boring one, of course."
"If just for that reason only, then sure."
He lead her on the dance floor, one arm around her waist, on her back and the other gently holding hers. They dance, completely lost in the music and each other face. They moved like one. It seemed impossible to tell who was leading who. Such a perfect pair; many other soon scooped away to gave them space and to admire them. Klaus and Celia couldn't be compared to anyone else when in the room, or outside in the wide world, for the way they danced it was like nothing on the face of Earth. They were musical notes, not following the sound, but creating it.
As silence filled the room, people all around them clapped, causing a strong blush to color Celia's cheeks as she smiled down shyly and a proud smirk to cross the hybrid's face.
"I think I need a drink." She said, wanting nothing more than to escape the attention cast on her, as well as dwelling in it. Klaus took her away from the once again crowded room and got her a half filled glass of white wine.
"You are quite a dancer, love." The girl gazed away from him, still blushing, still smiling. Seeing the smug look on his face she rolled her eyes at him.
"I know. 'Been told so before." Celia waited a little bit more before she put the glass down and faced him. "You are not so bad yourself."
"Why, thank you, sweetheart. I suppose years of practice can do the trick. Or maybe I am just a natural."
After that last line, the couple fall into a comfortable silence. Until Klaus broke it to ask if the brunette undercover witch would like to accompany him on a house tour. She agreed too easily, curiosity dragging her down again.
He showed her many rooms, a few boring (seriously who keeps an armorary in the house in the 21st century?), a few promising (yes, she admits she enjoyed the movie room, newest addition to the mansion), but only two completely woo her: the library (Celia could swear it was the size of the one from Beauty and the beast ) and the art gallery.
Klaus opened a locked door and a small glimpse of what hid behind took her breath away. She ran inside like a little child on a Christmas morning, copying her reaction to the huge library, but this time, Klaus' eyes sparked interest too. "Wow!"
"See anything you like, love?"
"Are you really asking me that?" She almost screamed. For the time being Celia forgot he is the enemy, and treated him like a friend. "It's so, SO beautiful!"
Her hands brushed against her face when she brought her fingers up instinctively to not show her wide parted lips. She didn't even notice they were alone in the room, or that Klaus locked the door again. She was too busy breathing in the amazing art surrounding her.
Celia took her time watching closely every painting hanging on the walls of the secret art gallery. Not a doubt she noticed the couple of paintings on the halls – downstairs and upstairs – and the few in the main room where all the guests were. But these were different. These were something else.
She saw history passing through dried colors. Gathered in the same place she could admire modern artwork alongside pieces of the '20 style and even older. Her favourites, of course, were the ones belonging to the Romanticism, the current she loved the most, when art was so purely emotional, when sadness has never looked as good.
But her careful eyes caught side of something being off. Each and all of the beautiful masterpieces had the same signature brush work, the same way of mixing colors. All in all, they seemed to belong to the same artist. But that can't be right.
She stopped in front of a grand painting, enlighten dimly by two small reflectors from above it. He felt him closing the distance between them until he stood right next to her, his eyes not on the painting, but on her. The two of them were surrounded by pure beauty and art, yet Klaus had eyes only for her. Where Celia marveled at well chosen colors, an harmony of them on the canvas, his gaze lingered in admiration on her light olive colored skin. Where Celia wondered about the certain techniques used to capture nature so shamelessly accurate, he imagined how not even marble statues in Ancient Greece could top her perfect face and body shape.
Klaus liked the human girl. She had the looks, he also liked her sarcastic comments and he knew she was smart, kind and refreshingly funny. The hybrid was just about to find out the complexity of Celia that night, feeling for the first time in a long, long while, a small pound in the left side of his chest.
"Ah, one of my favorites too." He leaned in and whispered in her ear. She brushed it off, putting some distance between them before replying.
"I didn't say I like it."
"But you see, love, your eyes speak what your mouth shall not."
Celia rolled her eyes. Already tired of doing so, but unable to stop. At least not in his annoying presence. She does it a lot, the eye roll thing, when she is nervous. But why would she be nervous around the handsome man. "Can you sound more like an old dated Shakespeare fan?"
He chuckled. Not giving him a chance to defend himself, the girl quickly added. "But you're right. I do like the painting. I like all of them!... well almost all."
Klaus simply smiled. The second time that night when his lips curled in a genuine smile and not a smirk or an evil grin.
"Why are they all locked up here? People should be able to see these beauties!"
"Not many appreciate art by it's true value. And unfortunately, my family ran in such a few people with good taste."
Celia nodded solemnly. She understood his point all too well. She hated the small importance art – any type of art – received these days. Many times she wished to be alive in times when art was truly respected as it deserved. Like he was reading her thoughts, Klaus commented. "Art has always been overviewed. In my first years, while still human, it was perceived as a weakness. The true valuable skills were hunting, fighting. This mentality have not changed, sadly. There is always a warrior, a strong man to be raised on a pedestal rather than a poor painter."
"Well people are dumb!" Celia huffed. "Artists are strong, so strong. Literature, music, drawings and so many other helped this society to evolve and adapt. Art is the sole purpose of life. I mean what is the point of living in an ugly world? During hard times – wars, plagues and pain – people needed hope and beauty that art and art alone gave them!"
"So you don't think these are but decorative objects?"
"Of course not! Artists are so brave to expose themselves to the world, making their voices heard when needed, proving points and providing solace."
Listening to her ted talk warmed his heart. His siblings never cared much about his paintings. He sensed in her someone he could talk about colors, techniques, artistic currents that changed the world and many other. But more so, he felt happy. For the fisrt time he was referred to as strong, brave even, for just painting. Back when he was a human boy, the concept of art was unknown. He enjoyed himself creating in the woods, or from the woods, despite his father hatred towards his hobby.
"You are talking about exposure. What do you make out of mere portraits, scenes of casual lives or landscapes?"
"Well, take this one for example. The symmetry of the two branches framing the whole picture can be a sign of control. But they are so twisted, so whoever painted it is struggling. The colors are too bright, unnaturally so – a wish that seems impossible to fulfill, a world the painter can't have. The flowers, orchids, are parasites in nature. Beautiful, but a burden. Maybe that's how he or she feels about themselves. And here's the brush lines and dried color that..." She stopped, flushing red at the look Klaus was giving her. Complete and utter astonishment. He was fascinated by her analyze, she came closer to the truth than he'd ever expected. "Sorry if I bore you, or if I over..."
"Don't apologise, love. I enjoy listening to you. More so when you are so correct." The first part made her smile, the second sentence made her blush and the last part made her frown with curiosity.
"You know the artist?"
"Closely." He smiled knowingly like he has just told her a joke only he gets.
"Well, you should tell the guy he's awesome! Pure talent, you can't fake it. I mean look at all this! Obviously, he has some training and all that, but you have to be born with a powerful affinity towards art to create something like this. Talent!"
"Thank you, love. I appreciate that." He said smugly, following her expression turning from not understanding to realization amused.
"Wait! You mean you... this... how? Wow!" Celia breathed. Afterwards they spent what seemed like hours debating different topics and subjects, all starting from, revolving around and getting right back at art. Many, many types of art.
The hybrid learned Celia's favorite style is the romantic one – invented (in lack of a better word) in the 19th century. The german Caspar David Friederich's paintings occupying an important place on the girl's favorites shelf. She said they have a nice touch, a tragic beauty. Sadness turning to awareness and lately into hope.
The girl found out Klaus used to and still is mixing, making his own colors. He said there is a special nuance only he could obtain, the perfect shade that is not sold anywhere. There is the right color for every situation.
Klaus actually had a good time and so did Celia, though neither would admit the real extents of those feelings. It wasn't until late that evening, when night took her reign seriously on the sky, when the laughing pair left the comfort of the art gallery and made it downstairs for Esther Mikaelson's speech...