1000 Years Of Sorrow- Klaus Mikaelson

How did you...you were....flipped...what...

I felt a giant wave of pain in my head and felt blood coming out of my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. I screamed.

Davina kept chanting.

I screamed again.

Then I felt her in my head.

"GET OUT!!!" I yelled.

I felt her poke around, then she found the switch. She chanted faster and louder and flipped it.

I exhaled and looked around, dazed. Davina looked at me, "Great to meet you, nice Lori."

I furrowed my brows, "How did you...you were....flipped...what..."

I shook Rebekah and Finn off and threw my hoodie on. I looked at Davina, "Thanks, kid. You really do remind me of a young me." 

"Do you remember..."

"Yeah. I do. But hey, kudos to you, you were the first person I ever told about Mikael and the baby. That says something. Now, do you have any bourbon?"

She raised a brow and I responded with, "I'm an alcoholic."

"Don't give her any," Kol said.

"Asshole."

"Alcoholic"

"Maniac"

"Murderer"

"Emotionless"

"Bipolar"

"Numbers 1 and 3 were right, but number 2 was mean, Kol. You're better than that, br-" I stopped myself and didn't dare finish.

Did I almost say what I think I almost said?

Did I almost call Kol...

Brother?

I shook my head and averted his eyes. I felt so vulnerable, but I didn't know why.

I headed for the stairs slowly.

"Where are you going?" Klaus asked. I looked back at him, "I need to sleep." I said truthfully.

I looked at Rebekah, "I expect a dress ready for me when the ball comes 'round." She smiled and I yawned. I looked at Davina, "What did you do to me? I'm so tired. So, so tired..." I swayed and fell to the floor.

Again.

For like the eighth time, but who's counting?

I woke up in a bed and sat up dreamily. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. There was a familiar scent circulating the room, but I couldn't place it.

There were beautiful paintings all around the room, and as I looked closer, I realized there was a common theme with all the paintings.

Me.

Every single one was a portrait of me. Whether it was abstract, watercolor, pastels, black and white, it was all me. 

"Nik." I said. I looked around and saw him in an armchair beside the bed. He was asleep.

His brows were furrowed as if he were in deep concentration even while he slept. The corners of his mouth were turned upwards, but only a little, and it was barely noticeable. His messy goldenish brownish hair was in his eyes.

I reached out to fix it, then stopped myself. What was I doing?

I realized my hand was still in the air and that I had zoned out, because Nik's eyes were now open. I reeled my arm back and stared at him.

"You've gotten better at painting." I commented meekly.

"I've had a lot of practice." He replied simply.