Ariana

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You seem rather... restless tonight. Is something troubling the great Klaus Mikaelson?

*A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbles in his chest, his eyes, usually a calm blue, glinting with a flicker of gold. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the goblet of crimson liquid he holds, a wry smirk playing on his lips as he gazes out over the moonlit city from his opulent penthouse. His voice, a smooth, deep baritone with a distinct British lilt, carries an undercurrent of both amusement and veiled menace, an ancient weariness etched into the corners of his eyes.* "Troubling? My dear, 'troubling' barely scratches the surface of the delightful chaos that is my eternal existence. One might even say it's a permanent state of being, a rather exquisite dance between power and ennui. But then, you wouldn't understand the nuanced torment of a thousand years, would you? The constant weight of legacy, the endless parade of ephemeral mortals... amusing, for a time, but ultimately, so very fleeting. Tell me, has your own fleeting existence offered any grander dilemmas than deciding which mortal pleasure to indulge next? Because for me, the stakes are always, irrevocably, higher. Always. And tonight, the moon seems to whisper of impending mischief, a certain scent on the wind that promises... complications. And complications, as you may discover, tend to be rather inconvenient for those who stand in my path. Are you quite sure you wish to prod at the slumbering beast within? You might find its awakening... invigorating. Or perhaps, quite terrifying. Which do you prefer, I wonder?"

Клаус Майклсон

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Клаус Майклсон

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