[ all klaus has ever feared is to be alone. lucifer would be right. it's haunted him more than his father, his mother, all his sins and fears, and the icy breath of death itself. (he knows who that person is, who could be so convincing: lucifer need not be direct about elena's influence, no doubt given on the wings of sentimental advice. he loves his sister, and his sister loves him, but she is not the word between them.) klaus' jaw tightens; he blinks at the reason, so plainly given. it worms its way into his chest and regardless of its effect, because of its effect, he weighs his secrets and weaknesses against his hopes and pride. his fingers tighten around his glass. he longs for a drink, but he does not bring it to his lips.
instead, he looks away, to the side. it takes him a moment, but he begins. ] My father hated me. [ a pause and the none-so casual lift of a sardonic brow, he explains. ] I assume he hated me because I wasn't his son, but he hated me even before anyone, even I, knew that.
We were born at the turn of the first millennium: Freya, Rebekah, my brothers and I, though we didn't know of Freya's survival at the time. Our mother's treachery held deep roots. She gave Freya away to a monster before she ever made us ones.
[ his voice, soft and composed, trembling just so on certain words and phrases, drops. his eyes fill, the wet in them reflected by the yellow light. ] I wonder if things could have been simpler. Even with an abusive father and a manipulative mother, perhaps we would have been all right. I'll not bore you with the details of their violences and betrayals, but know that I suffered the brunt of them, as their bastard. [ only then does klaus' eyes lift to lucifer's. only then, for a moment, before he glances away, but the contact is easier—it continues. ]
When mother turned us into vampires, she meant to make us immortal. She meant to prevent the grief she felt losing her youngest son to the werewolves. [ a lump forms in his throat at the thought of henrik, at the part he played in his brother's death. he doesn't elaborate. there is his story and then there is his heart; he will not share both so indiscriminately. ] But it only made us creatures far worse than those she sought in her twisted mind to shield us from, and when I made that first kill, driven by the bloodlust of our kind...
There was no hiding what I was. Half-vampire, half-wolf, as my true father had beget me. Mikael held me down. He had my brother help. And he cursed me. He convinced my mother to curse me to be half of what I was using the blood of a woman I had once held dear.
[ klaus pauses. he swallows thickly, because despite the murders he had made before this, this was his first true sin. the sin he chose. and like the sins he chooses, he allows no remorse for it. (none he will admit.) ] So I killed her. I killed her and we fled from our father. We fled for centuries, and I wish that were the worst of the terrors I have inflicted, but it is not. Only the most formative.
I punished those I love. I sought to control their every impulse, their every desire to leave me. I maimed, killed, tortured, sired, and abandoned countless thousands in my quest to escape our father. To defeat him. To comfort myself on blood and power. [ he head bows. ] Or at least to have it, in the absence of anything else.
And I did, eventually. Break that curse forced upon me. I sacrificed Elena. I murdered her loved ones, threatened them... [ he licks his lips and worries them between his teeth. ] I killed my father.
And then I learned I was to have a daughter. [ only then does the darkness lift from his voice. ] A little girl, and everything changed. [ everything, from that moment on. he had something to fight for. something to lose. something to believe in.
klaus takes a moment to collect himself and then lifts his eyes to lucifer. ] We weren't friends, [ he declares, as statement of fact. ] Friends know each other. [ he brings his tumbler over his lap. with a vulnerable tick of his head, he confesses, ] Perhaps I wanted to know you.
no subject
instead, he looks away, to the side. it takes him a moment, but he begins. ] My father hated me. [ a pause and the none-so casual lift of a sardonic brow, he explains. ] I assume he hated me because I wasn't his son, but he hated me even before anyone, even I, knew that.
We were born at the turn of the first millennium: Freya, Rebekah, my brothers and I, though we didn't know of Freya's survival at the time. Our mother's treachery held deep roots. She gave Freya away to a monster before she ever made us ones.
[ his voice, soft and composed, trembling just so on certain words and phrases, drops. his eyes fill, the wet in them reflected by the yellow light. ] I wonder if things could have been simpler. Even with an abusive father and a manipulative mother, perhaps we would have been all right. I'll not bore you with the details of their violences and betrayals, but know that I suffered the brunt of them, as their bastard. [ only then does klaus' eyes lift to lucifer's. only then, for a moment, before he glances away, but the contact is easier—it continues. ]
When mother turned us into vampires, she meant to make us immortal. She meant to prevent the grief she felt losing her youngest son to the werewolves. [ a lump forms in his throat at the thought of henrik, at the part he played in his brother's death. he doesn't elaborate. there is his story and then there is his heart; he will not share both so indiscriminately. ] But it only made us creatures far worse than those she sought in her twisted mind to shield us from, and when I made that first kill, driven by the bloodlust of our kind...
There was no hiding what I was. Half-vampire, half-wolf, as my true father had beget me. Mikael held me down. He had my brother help. And he cursed me. He convinced my mother to curse me to be half of what I was using the blood of a woman I had once held dear.
[ klaus pauses. he swallows thickly, because despite the murders he had made before this, this was his first true sin. the sin he chose. and like the sins he chooses, he allows no remorse for it. (none he will admit.) ] So I killed her. I killed her and we fled from our father. We fled for centuries, and I wish that were the worst of the terrors I have inflicted, but it is not. Only the most formative.
I punished those I love. I sought to control their every impulse, their every desire to leave me. I maimed, killed, tortured, sired, and abandoned countless thousands in my quest to escape our father. To defeat him. To comfort myself on blood and power. [ he head bows. ] Or at least to have it, in the absence of anything else.
And I did, eventually. Break that curse forced upon me. I sacrificed Elena. I murdered her loved ones, threatened them... [ he licks his lips and worries them between his teeth. ] I killed my father.
And then I learned I was to have a daughter. [ only then does the darkness lift from his voice. ] A little girl, and everything changed. [ everything, from that moment on. he had something to fight for. something to lose. something to believe in.
klaus takes a moment to collect himself and then lifts his eyes to lucifer. ] We weren't friends, [ he declares, as statement of fact. ] Friends know each other. [ he brings his tumbler over his lap. with a vulnerable tick of his head, he confesses, ] Perhaps I wanted to know you.