His fingers wrap tight around hers, knuckles white. Klaus does it instinctually and intentionally all at once, seeing her eyes close; feeling and seeing her tremble under the weight of what overtakes her. He means to lend her desperate strength and in the lacking of it then understanding, comfort. He knows that weight, that fear: the fear of losing and the fear of having something worth all of it.
He hopes he will do right by his daughter. He hopes that willing and wanting and needing it to be so will be enough in the practice of trying. Klaus blinks past the tears hearing her words, taking in the shared belief they both need. He is choked of words for a moment, for it means no small thing, coming from this strong, anguished little girl without a parent for herself nor a place to call her home.
Klaus swallows thickly. He listens. He hardens. Finds quiet words. "Did he hurt her?"
100 years later FEEL FREE TO DROP if you need to
He hopes he will do right by his daughter. He hopes that willing and wanting and needing it to be so will be enough in the practice of trying. Klaus blinks past the tears hearing her words, taking in the shared belief they both need. He is choked of words for a moment, for it means no small thing, coming from this strong, anguished little girl without a parent for herself nor a place to call her home.
Klaus swallows thickly. He listens. He hardens. Finds quiet words. "Did he hurt her?"