✓ | Violet (Klaus Mikaelson)

Chapter One

I'm calling you this late
And it might be a mistake
What I loved was never to be trusted
As I could be the only one for you, why do you feel hunted?
When you say I'm the devil,
I don't disagree
Because I've tried to believe
But every time I break the most beautiful things
And I don't mean to bury you in my sins 

❀

Usually, I'd cast a glance and then look away, look away because I didn't want to swim in the lovely pool of potential eyes, as my heart had been broken too many times before. I never looked back long enough to know that, perhaps, this time it could be different. I had learned not to be foolish.

Although, I found myself gazing across the bar to meet his eyes once again, defying my own rule not to let strangers in so easily. I didn't see how this time would be different, and I didn't know why I couldn't help but meet his careful stare once again. He clearly attempted to study me without my notice, but I had observed him just the same, resulting in my failure to resist a pair of charming eyes. What was the difference this time, and why did I keep looking back? He had a captivating look about him; a dark, yet burning flare lingering in his eyes that sparked my curiosity.

I exhaled deeply with disappointment and blamed my loneliness for this excruciating and painful moment in which I had let myself down. My empty glass rested in my hand. Perhaps another drink would get me back to my senses.

Seconds later, I decided that, after trying to avoid his colourful presence across the bar in an ungainly manner, I would look back one last time. Not to defy him, or to show that I wasn't shy, but to surrender to the fact that I was curious. It was the truth, and where there was truth there were no barriers, no shifty glances, and I would look back to show him that nothing could come of this. Or maybe I stared back because there wasn't a thing to lose now, because there wasn't a soul I could even prove my resistance and victories to. After all, I was sitting here out of pure loneliness. I was glancing back to prove a point to myself out of pure boredom.

And when I finally let my gaze wander back to the other side of the bar, where I expected him to be sitting and to immediately catch my eye, he wasn't there anymore.

I was slightly crushed. I was embarrassed to discover the burden of dismay and desire to suppress my own beliefs and wishes. I'd wanted him to stare right back into my face, as though he might have liked it and wished to study it longer than he actually had and linger on it. "Shouldn't a pretty lady like you be on the dancefloor right now?"

It was him. I knew it was him without even turning my head and face him. His voice was colourful, highlighted by an accent.

His greyish eyes met mine. My impulse was to look away instantly as I'd wished to do from the very beginning, but I couldn't. "Not quite in the mood to dance actually." I answered.

"What a shame." He said, and he almost instantly occupied the barstool next to mine. I watched him pick up on my empty glass. "Can I at least offer you another drink?"

I quickly found my mind to work in protective ways over myself. Mainly, because now that I had looked into his eyes, it occurred to me that I did not just want to show him my little world, but to ask my little world to let him in, which truly terrified me and led me to avoiding him as soon as I had caught another glimpse of the sparkle in his gaze. "If you insist." I answered plainly and simply.

"Cheer up, love. It's not every day I go around offering free drinks." He spoke right through the obvious smirk that he wore, and briefly signed the bartender for two drinks.

"How splendid. Thank you..." I trailed off to hint at him I wanted to know his name.

"Klaus."

"Klaus." I repeated quietly, and thought. "I may have heard that name before."