( time passes. it has for him, every day and night for the past week crawling by in moments of restless, relentless continuance. that is all this is: a circle. a narrow passageway going nowhere, assuredly to the blank slate this place seeks. they say the passage of these moments may heal all wounds, but klaus has already survived time. he has not survived this.
(he wonders. how he'll fare, locked up for longer, enduring torment untold. how he did under the hunter's curse. he thinks of his daughter.
he thinks of rebekah. elijah.
then he thinks of what violence he may commit, what stratagem will free him.
the thought of clementine chokes him. stops him.)
he paints. he paints nothing, nothing but canvases streaked with colors both angry and bright and dark. he paints and leaves his works piled and some broken. it's the only action that lends him control, grants him respite.
he knows what it does to her. he feels that space. that gap, uncrossed, between them. he tries not to think of it.
klaus feels her presence. he doesn't turn but he tenses at the words, pauses for a moment, and then puts brush to canvas again. ) I'm clearing my mind.
no subject
(he wonders. how he'll fare, locked up for longer, enduring torment untold. how he did under the hunter's curse. he thinks of his daughter.
he thinks of rebekah. elijah.
then he thinks of what violence he may commit, what stratagem will free him.
the thought of clementine chokes him. stops him.)
he paints. he paints nothing, nothing but canvases streaked with colors both angry and bright and dark. he paints and leaves his works piled and some broken. it's the only action that lends him control, grants him respite.
he knows what it does to her. he feels that space. that gap, uncrossed, between them. he tries not to think of it.
klaus feels her presence. he doesn't turn but he tenses at the words, pauses for a moment, and then puts brush to canvas again. ) I'm clearing my mind.