Klaroline Drabbles

57 part 2

The dreams began years after her death.

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he ventured into the wing of the mansion he never visited, as if fearing it would break him by its mere presence. The sound of loud giggling and running feet stopped his frantic walk, as a small girl ran out of her chambers and into the passage. Her governess screeching as she followed behind her. Cassandra, eleven years old now, was the spitting image of her mother, even at such a young age. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at his daughter, a wave of emotions spiraling through him.

Taken aback by him, she stopped in her tracks, twirling around in her bright yellow tunic as she gave him a shy, genuine smile, and in his head he saw Caroline smiling at him the same way, on their wedding night all those years ago. She had her mother's smile. And his heart broke, when he realized the girl probably didn't even know he was her father. The governess grabbed her by the shoulders, gently reprimanding her for running away. Her hurried apologies fell on deaf ears, his attention focused on the small child who huffed and followed after her caretaker. He lingered by the door, watching as Cassandra asked her governess who the strange man was.

"He's your father, pumpkin," the old lady replied, fussing over the child's unruly curls.

From the small crack of the door, Klaus watched as the smile faded from his first-borns face, her eyes growing dark and sad as she looked down at her feet. And in his head, he saw Caroline's face when she learnt of his son.

That night, he dreamt of her for the first time.

He dreamt of the last conversation they had, he dreamt of giving in to her pleas, he dreamt of forgetting about his need to have a son. He dreamt of not letting her walk away from him. He dreamt of never having done anything to have to apologize to her for.

When he woke up, he did so drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. And never knowing, or never wanting to know, if the wetness on his cheeks was from his cold sweats or the tears he shed in the memory of his dead wife.

He dreamt of her every night, therein.

He dreamt of the day his youngest daughter was born. He dreamt of going in to see her after he was informed it was a girl. He dreamt of holding her as Caroline watched him. He dreamt of suggesting that they name her after Caroline's mother. He dreamt of not leaving for 4 months to look for another woman to share his bed and bear his son.

And when he woke up, the truth of his actions haunted him. His daughter was named Elizabeth, but by no aid of his. And by the time he first held her, he had decided that it would be the last time he would hold her, or her mother.

He dreamt of the night he betrayed his vows to Caroline. He dreamt of not going through with it. He dreamt of giving into the guilt that had flooded him. He dreamt of going back to Caroline, telling her that he'd rather have her and a dozen daughters than some other woman and a male heir.

But when he woke up, his wife was now the woman who bore him his son. And his daughters had no idea who he was.

Weeks later, he requested to see his daughters, a request that positively baffled their governess. It was a cruel joke, he was certain of if, for each of his daughters looked just like their mother. Elizabeth, the youngest and the most clueless, took to him the fastest, chasing the butterflies with her sister. Cassandra, stood feet away from him, holding onto her governess' hand tightly. She was afraid of him, he could tell, and deep down, he could not blame her for fearing him.

"Come sit next to me," he said, smiling at the girl who narrowed her eyes at him. His heart ached to hold his daughter's hand, trace the light freckles on her cheek, knowing that in doing so, he'd be touching a part of Caroline. He needed it like he needed his next breath. But his daughter was just like her mother, stubborn and determined, as she resolutely shook her head and disappeared behind her governess.

"Why not?" he asked, burying the sudden pain and anger he felt at her rejection.

"Because," Cassandra said bravely, poking her head out from behind her caretaker's many skirts, "You killed mother."

His eyes widened as he felt his heart drop down to his gut, watching in horror as Cassandra gave him a look that screamed disappointment and bitterness, as her governess alternated between yelling at the child and apologizing to him. His daughter was ashamed of him, he could see it in her watery eyes, and he would never be her father, just the man who took away her mother.

With three truthful words, and a look of pure disappointment from a child bought the weight of his decisions down on him. His hands may be clean, but his conscience never would. He might as well have tied the noose that took his Caroline's life. And that sent him spiraling down a deep abyss with no bottom.

He dreamt of her calling him. He dreamt of her pleading for his help, dreamt of her feeble, pained voice calling out for him. He dreamt of rushing to her aid, dreamt of find her injured and dying in her chambers. He dreamt of saving her life, dreamt of holding her till she stopped crying. He dreamt of never letting her go.

When he awoke, he created a ruckus in the mansion. Breaking through every door and waking up all the residents. Like a possessed man, he screamed and howled at everything and everyone, yelling that Caroline was calling for him, insisting that he heard her, crying that she was hurt and begging them to find her for him. He searched for her for hours and hours, but to no avail.

When he finally slept that night, on the cold floor of his chambers, he did so truly believing that he had killed her yet again.

And from that day onwards, the town had a new name for him. He was no longer The cruel and harsh King. He was now The Mad king. He saw Caroline everywhere, in every blonde woman on the street, every blue-eyed servant in the mansion. He saw her everywhere, he heard her everywhere, he felt her everywhere. And he knew with every fiber of his being, that she was in pain, that she needed his help, that he could save her.

And every night, he dreamt of her calling out to him. And every night, like a mad-man he searched for her in every corner of the mansion, in every nook and cranny of the garden, every alley of every street, begging the world to give her back to him. But she never did.

She haunted him in his every waking and sleeping moment. Until the day he took his life in the same place she did.