Always and Forever: a new life.

Deal with the devil.

For the first time since entering the room, Klaus looked unsettled. His posture stiffened, his hands curling into fists.

Klaus Mikaelson, the immortal hybrid who rarely betrayed a crack in his armor, looked fierce, eyes flashing,  clenched.

His piercing blue eyes burned with suspicion as he regarded the red-haired witch as she casually walked over to the kitchen table, taking a seat. She appeared calm, but there was an undeniable weariness to her, like even looking at him demanded effort.

It wasn't fear—it was something else, something that scratched at the edges of his pride.

Around them, his witches lay scattered on the floor, unconscious.

A ripple of annoyance coursed through Klaus, mingled with a begrudging sense of respect he would never voice. Perhaps he had underestimated this girl after all.

"You've made quite the entrance," he drawled, his voice as sharp as the blade he'd yet to unsheathe. "And quite the mess."

Hope, didn’t flinch.

They both knew he could have killed her had he wanted to the second bodies dropped, but he didn’t,  that was all Hope needed to know he was interested.

Instead, she rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together. "I needed privacy. They were in the way."

Klaus gazed at her unimpressed, "And why should I entertain this little request of yours?"

"Like I said, I want to talk."

“You’ve been hiding a lot, witch..” he growled, his voice lower, tinged with the familarly characteristic anger, finally coming out. “You think a parlor trick is going to intimidate me?”

Hope leaned back in her chair. “Intimidate you? No. I want your attention, and now I have it. You and I have things to discuss. Or,” she gestured to the unconscious bodies around them, her tone nonchalant, “I can leave them like this.”

She raised one eyebrow.

Klaus’s lips curled into a snarl, his stance defensive. “You’ve got nerve, witch. I’ll give you that."

“And you’ve got a reputation,” Hope shot back, unflinching. “So let’s skip the threats and theatrics. I’m not scared of you, Klaus. But maybe, you should be scared of me.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, magic and malice swirling like opposing storms. This young witch had a strange air to her, a kind of air he hadn’t felt in centuries, it was the violent thumping of magic pulsating out of a person,  in his life he had only ever experienced this a handful of times, earliest memory being of his mother.

For the first time in years, Klaus Mikaelson hesitated.

The witch on the other hand, got up and grabbed two mugs, sifting through the tea box and setting the kettle on boil with a flick of her hand.

"Do you like earl grey? Or do you plan to stand there all day?" She asked over her shoulder

Klaus raised an eyebrow, masking the flicker of surprise he felt at her audacity.

This young witch—this girl—had taken down his witches with ease, yet she acted as though she was here for tea. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was intrigued.

He smiled mockingly, "Oh? Well" He stepped closer, "Or I could just snap your neck and be over with it now. What makes you think I'll bother hearing out you out?" 

The next second, Klaus was standing face to face with her, her height playing no favors as she stood before him. He leaned down insultingly. "I could just kill you..." He contemplated, corner of his mouth curling into a smile.