I love you more than I hate you. Isn't that strange? 𓃦𓃦𓃦
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🐕.
Klaus Mikaelson was boy made a god
He was a god who forgot what man was. He still had blood that found home in his veins. But he was something greater. Something undead. He was no longer that boy who cowered under his fathers hand. The boy with golden woven hair that curled on his smooth forehead. Settled storm eyes. Innocent bitten cheeks and a chest of full of swallowed rage. A boy who lips still curled upwards under the blue-purple blotches that made home on his back. The ones that stung like bees when he went to collect berries and herbs to make paints. For his mother, his masterpieces. He was a good boy. But his father turned him into a bad man, and bad men always think they are gods.
Was it your mother or father who made you that Klaus?
Your mother. Who was a victim to the rage who inherited from your (not) father. A woman who had plump bruised skin. And those sad lush green eyes. Your mother who found comfort in a man who held her in the under the stars and was a slave to the moon. The woman who cried not of pain but of bone rattling fear during your birth. Esther. Who lead you to the family of a man who was nothing of your father but hated you in a way only a father could.
