❝I thought they were just bones.❞
❝If you truly believed that, you would have let her rest.❞
They could bury her bones, but they couldn't bury the truth.
For 90 years, Klaus Mikaelson has been haunted by the memory of the woman he betrayed.
For...
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San Francisco, 1966
Klaus Mikaelson hadn't rested in forty seven years.
How could he? She wouldn't let him.
He was dreaming again, the same dream, the same nightmare that held his every thought. The horror that he relived a thousand times, unable to change it.
She was dying.
Rowan was dying and everything was crumbling around him.
Her hands were on his shoulders, her eyes wide as she registered the pain, gaze flickering down to the blood pooling from her chest. She looked up, tears and mascara running.
"Nik..." She whispered, falling to her knees.
Death was rounding the corner, footsteps clicking down the aisle of the church.
And he sped away.
Klaus woke with a jolt, calming his breathing before he turned round to face her. Rowan was on his other side, gazing sadly at him.
"Why won't you speak to me?" He whispered for what felt like the millionth time. "Please, I know you can - just speak to me." He begged. "Yell at me, curse me, I don't care! I can't take this anymore."
For forty seven years, Rowan Blackfyre had been haunting Klaus Mikaelson. Every waking moment, every second of sleep, was consumed by her. She was everywhere he looked, everywhere he ran to.
At first he'd thought she had survived the devastation in New Orleans. He soon realised he was cursed for what he had done. Cursed that she would always be out of his reach, and yet everywhere around him. He'd begged her to haunt him, and she'd granted his request, a ghost in the wind.
She was silent, never uttering a word. She just stared sadly at him, lurking in the peripheries of his life. Only one had she spoke to him, in the Place des Vosges, and never again since, no matter how much he pleaded.
"Rowan." He closed his eyes. "Please."
She was gone from the bed when he opened his eyes again. Halfway across the room, she was admiring the map pinned to the wall above his desk. He followed her across the room, watching in shock as the map burst into flames. He grabbed for it, ripping it from the wall and stamping the fire out by foot. Rowan was by the window when he turned, white gown billowing in the breeze. She was stood on the ledge, arms spread wide.
