Dear Charlotte,

one month has passed since the moment you left me. There are moments like this when I remember the first time you talked to me about you. You told me about your love for music and painting. You told me that you could spend hours painting or playing the piano. Suddenly, you stopped and you looked at me. You saw me drawing. You asked me what I was doing. I said nothing. I lied. I was painting you.

Yours,
Klaus Mikaelson