the time that was stolen from me
The walls are crisp white, pristine. Something about them rings wrong to Freya, makes her uneasy as she walks down the corridor. White white white. For pureness, cleansing. Absence of everything.
She must have be walking for ages; opening doors, hitting dead ends when she hears it. Faded but clear.
Laughter.
Freya freezes. A unfiltered, bright and loud sound. Her eyes widen. Beautiful, she thinks as Freya turns towards the sound, in a trance. A door is creaked open. From the gap she can see them—her family—talking, chattering. Joking.
Carefully, Freya pushes the door open and stops.
Brightness. Colour.
She forgets herself, what she’s here to do, as watches. Listens. This is happiest Freya has ever seen them. She had never knew, that they could—
Rebekah clicking her glass of wine with Klaus. Elijah, grinning. Kol slumped in his chair, groaning about something but a smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth. And Finn. Finn is here too. The older, angry man, far from the child, Freya remembers. But—
There’s a softness to his form, in his expression here. And Freya can almost see an echo of her little brother that would follow her around and have the most beautiful smile.
“Now, come on, Niklaus—“
“—I told you, Brother, this is a—“
“—Shut up, Rebekah. No one asked for—”
Freya smiles without her notice. She knows she has to look for Elijah. For her very real brother who’s lost, who’s not a memory. She doesn’t want to leave, though. She wants to stay here. Just a little longer.
(Please)
