𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

ꜰᴏᴜʀ

"Please Niklaus... for me?" Her voice spoke. It sounded that of a melody.

Niklaus laughed. "Alright then, if it makes you happy." He smiled.

She smiled back at him. "Don't forget me, Nik. Paint me like one of your French girls."

"I could never forget you, my love." He smiled but then it quickly faded as she started to choke. "Love?"

Blood gushed out from her mouth as she clutched her stomach, falling to the ground.

"Love?" His screams of concern were drowned out as his world was caving in on him, he couldn't even hear his own screams of agony.

Her body stopped shaking, it stopped producing buckets of blood that would come out of her mouth. She was dead.

Waking up in a cold sweat, Niklaus clutched his pounding heart and licked his dry lips. 'Just a dream,' he thought. It wasn't real, it couldn't be. He had never met the girl in his dream. She was a figment, nothing more.

As he walked down the stairs of The Abattoir, a voice spoke out.

"Nightmare?"

Klaus jumped a little bit. "Goodness Elijah, are you trying to scare the dead?"

"Well, seeing as you are dead and I scared you, mission successful." Elijah folded the newspaper in half and put it on the side table.

"Funny joke." Klaus said sarcastically. "And yes, it was a nightmare."

"Of..?" Elijah inquired.

"I think we both know the answer to that." Klaus said as he glared at his brother and sat on the couch across from him.

"Ah yes, the nightmare about the same girl that you've dreamt of for the last one thousand years. How could I ever forget?"

"Don't try to be funny, Elijah. It doesn't suit you." Niklaus said.

Elijah didn't say anything else and just opened his newspaper back up and started to read it again.

Klaus sat down on the couch across from Elijah, draping his hand over the back rest. "Have you found a witch yet?"

"Rebekah said she found someone—a girl who has a burning desire to get rid of her pesky trances." Elijah replied, reading the old newspaper.

Klaus' face hardened. "No.. the one with The Spark? Elijah, tell me you didn't..."

Elijah looked up unbothered. "Please Niklaus, I didn't do it... Rebekah did."

Klaus sighed. "Elijah... Mother prophesied—" But Elijah cut him off.

"Mother is dead, Niklaus. In fact, I believe you killed her. You of all people should know that Mother was messing with us. This witch could help."

Klaus stubbornly rolled his eyes and got up from where he sat and left the room, deciding that sleep seemed to be a better friend than his older brother.

Rebekah Mikaelson, the youngest of the Original Family, was walking through the streets of New Orleans when she got a call from her old beau.

"Marcel," her voice grew anxious as Marcel was the self-proclaimed 'King of the City.' "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I've heard you've been trying to procure a witch for reasons unknown."

Rebekah looked at a dress that hung on the rack. "What's it to you?"

Marcel chuckled. "Not even going to deny it? Wow Rebekah, how audacious of you."

"Yes well, that is me, the audacious one."

"Hm, well, I called to warn you."

Rebekah paused in her step. "What? Warn me about what?"

"About your little... spark."

"Ember? Please, she's only a tool, Marcel." Rebekah resumed to walk down the street. She had gotten tired of the overpriced rack items.

"That doesn't change the fact that her kind has almost obliterated every supernatural race, Rebekah. It started long ago. What you need to do is take a knife and shove it through her heart."

"And why don't you do it yourself? I am not some dirty minion that you call a friend." Rebekah scoffed.

"I would but... my hands are full." Marcel then ended the phone call and looked at the barely conscious boy who was chained up against the wall, his brown hair caked with sweat that stuck to his forehead. "Now, where were we?"