[ it is something. it is a comfort and a problem both: that rebekah is here to share their grief, their terror, and what haunts and hounds them to its fullest. she knows like no one else knows: she knows the truth of their future, the full horror of it. she knows it in visceral and total ways that freya and camille do not.
in ways perhaps they need not. should not.
he keeps her wrist in his hand, sucks in a soft breath hearing what she does know: who she knows is here, and who she doesn't. (camille.) he will tell her; he will. but they are words better left for later. (for him, not for her.) it's best to start from the top before he touches on timelines.
now give him like a short second to brace himself for the ensuing ridiculousness of what he's about to say. his jaw tightens and his smile is tight; clearly this is a point of never-ending frustration for him. ] We're in Wonderland, it seems. [ yes, that wonderland ] A separate dimension... from ours. [ that smile fades towards the end because he is 100% serious ]
[the future brings nothing but pain and despair for their family, misery that perhaps they've earned in some ways but it does not make it any easier to bare. the solidarity of knowing klaus has suffered through it is comforting to be sure but if she could rob him of that knowledge, she would.
it's why she does not fight his grip, the way his fingers stay wrapped around her wrist, keeping her tethered to him.
(always and forever, the curse and gift of the mikaelsons)
her expression turns slightly judgy at the mention of where they are]
You don't mean like the Wonderland in Charles Dodson's silly books, do you?
[Originals: the only people pretentious enough to use Lewis Carrol's real name.]
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in ways perhaps they need not. should not.
he keeps her wrist in his hand, sucks in a soft breath hearing what she does know: who she knows is here, and who she doesn't. (camille.) he will tell her; he will. but they are words better left for later. (for him, not for her.) it's best to start from the top before he touches on timelines.
now give him like a short second to brace himself for the ensuing ridiculousness of what he's about to say. his jaw tightens and his smile is tight; clearly this is a point of never-ending frustration for him. ] We're in Wonderland, it seems. [ yes, that wonderland ] A separate dimension... from ours. [ that smile fades towards the end because he is 100% serious ]
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it's why she does not fight his grip, the way his fingers stay wrapped around her wrist, keeping her tethered to him.
(always and forever, the curse and gift of the mikaelsons)
her expression turns slightly judgy at the mention of where they are]
You don't mean like the Wonderland in Charles Dodson's silly books, do you?
[Originals: the only people pretentious enough to use Lewis Carrol's real name.]
How is this possible?