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What am I doing here?
I glance around, taking in the familiar yet empty walls that surround me. A frown creases my brow as I realize I'm alone in this long, cold hallway. But there's warmth here, a feeling pulling me forward. I follow it, leading me to a grand staircase that ascends into another vast hall.
This room, too, is devoid of furniture except for a lone canvas hanging in the far corner.
Intrigued, I make my way toward it. As I reach out, I notice it's blank except for a name written at the bottom, which I squint to read:
Niklaus Mikaelson.
My fingers trace the letters of the name. I look up at the empty canvas, frustrated yet hopeful to discover what it once held. As I continue tracing the name, a shiver runs down my spine, the air around me thickening with anticipation. My body tenses, but not with fear—with a strange, exhilarating sensation that quickens my pulse.
"Niklaus," I whisper involuntarily, sensing his presence.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Startled, I turn to find him standing behind me. His appearance catches me off guard: dressed impeccably in a black suit and tie, his dirty blonde hair falling effortlessly over his forehead.It feels like I haven't seen him in ages, though I can't recall why.
He walks toward me, glancing around the walls that enclose us. "Do you know what this is?"
His eyes meet mine, confusion evident on my face. I've been here before, I know it, yet my memories are elusive. How did I meet Niklaus? I just...know him.
Panic rises within me as I meet his concerned gaze. "How do I know you?" I blurt out, pulling away instinctively as he steps closer.
"Love-" he starts to say, reaching out towards me, but I retreat in distress.
"No, why can't I remember anything? Where are we? Why can't I feel my magic?" My words catch in my throat as nausea overwhelms me, causing me to stumble backward until Niklaus catches me in his arms.
When I open my eyes again, the sight of green fields before me makes me sigh in relief. My head rests on a hard chest, arms snaked around my waist keeping me close to the body behind me. Despite the glaring sun, the environment feels cold; the only warmth I feel is from the person holding me.
"That was the hermitage," he says.
I lift my head to meet his blue eyes already focused on me. His eyes hold warmth, but his face is tight with concern, and perhaps a hint of anger.
"I knew I had been there before. Your painting is there?" I ask, and he nods. His expression tells me there's more to it, but now isn't the time to discuss it.
"Why are you in my head?" I ask, realizing that we've been jumping from one place to another because of his presence in my mind.
"This isn't the first time I've been in your head, sweetheart. I've been here thrice in the last four days, but you don't remember anything, do you?" His words tighten my throat and make my heart ache as I try to piece together everything.
