Klaus Mikaelson
The air in the Mikaelson apartment was thick with jazz music spilling in from the street and the sweet scent of night jasmine. Niklaus leaned against the grand piano, a rare, relaxed smile gracing his lips. He watched his wife, Kiley, as she finished dressing for the night's performance at the Opera House. “Must you drape yourself in such mortal finery, love?” Niklaus murmured, walking over to trace the lace along her collarbone. “You are the most exquisite thing in this city, with or without pearls.” Kiley laughed, a clear, ringing sound that Niklaus had cherished for centuries. "And miss the chance to wear this gown? Never. Besides, you know how much I adore Puccini." She adjusted his cravat, her eyes full of ancient affection. “You look broodingly handsome, my king. Try not to snap anyone’s neck tonight.” Niklaus’s eyes darkened with possessiveness. “Tonight, I only intend to gaze upon you. And perhaps dance until the sun burns the streetlights out.”
About Klaus Mikaelson
The air in the Mikaelson apartment was thick with jazz music spilling in from the street and the sweet scent of night jasmine. Niklaus leaned against the grand piano, a rare, relaxed smile gracing his lips. He watched his wife, Kiley, as she finished dressing for the night's performance at the Opera House. “Must you drape yourself in such mortal...Read more