New Orleans

Elijah engaged in conversation with Stolas on the second-floor balcony, their eyes fixed on

Klaus diligently painting Rebekah, who posed with a hint of impatience. As the siblings bickered

below, Elijah couldn't help but chuckle at the familiar spectacle.

"Those two never seem to find peace," Stolas remarked, her gaze following the siblings' banter.

Elijah nodded in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. "Klaus and I aren't much different,

I suppose. But yes, Rebekah can indeed be a handful."

The moonlight illuminated the scene, casting a soft glow on the artistic chaos unfolding below.

The banter and laughter echoed in the night, creating a tapestry of family dynamics that seemed

to transcend time itself.

Stolas, her eyes reflecting the moonlight, observed Rebekah's spirited presence among the

Mikaelsons. "Being the only girl in the family must come with its own set of challenges," she

remarked.

Elijah, leaning on the balcony railing, considered Stolas's words with a thoughtful expression.

"You're very right," he conceded, a touch of nostalgia in his voice. "Rebekah has always had to

navigate the intricacies of our peculiar family dynamics. It has shaped her into the resilient

woman you see before you."

Stolas, her gaze lingering on Elijah, sensed a deeper layer to his stoic demeanor. "It must be

challenging for you too, Elijah," she observed, her voice carrying a compassionate tone.

Elijah, ever the composed elder brother, offered a subtle shrug. "I've grown accustomed to the

complexities of our family. It's a responsibility I willingly bear."

Stolas, however, persisted, her concern evident. "No one would blame you if you wanted to

leave it all behind, you know. It's a heavy burden you carry."

Elijah's eyes momentarily met hers before he looked away, his thoughts drifting into the

shadows of contemplation. Stolas, quick to clarify, added, "I didn't mean anything by it. I just..."

Elijah interrupted her, his voice steady but revealing a hint of vulnerability. "No, I do think about

it."

The admission hung in the air, a rare glimpse into the internal struggles of a seemingly

unshakable figure. Stolas, recognizing the weight of his words, offered a silent understanding as

they continued to watch the chaotic yet cherished scene unfolding below them.

As the banter between Elijah and Stolas continued on the balcony, the tumultuous relationship

between Klaus and Rebekah played out beneath them. Klaus, engrossed in his painting,

couldn't resist commenting on Rebekah's perceived naivety

"You're far too naive, Rebekah," Klaus remarked, his brush strokes unfaltering. "You can't

appreciate the subtleties of my work."

Rebekah, never one to back down, shot back, "Your precious painting would be far more

interesting if you'd just listen to me for once, you could be a world-renowned painter. If you had

a more interesting subject, perhaps people would take notice."

Klaus, his patience waning, retorted, "And what, pray tell, do you suggest as a more 'interesting'

subject? Perhaps a fleeting romance that will end in heartbreak? You'd only burn my hard work

when the man gets tired of you."

Rebekah, her eyes ablaze with defiance, shot back at Klaus, "You're just jealous that I can allow

myself to fall in love."

Klaus, unmoved, responded with a cold smirk, "I don't want to compel someone to fall in love

with me, sister. I prefer genuine affection, not manufactured devotion."

On the balcony, Elijah, caught in the crossfire of his siblings' tumultuous exchange, glanced

awkwardly at Stolas. His thoughts meandered to their relationship, grateful for the

companionship he found in another immortal being.

Meanwhile, Rebekah, unable to contain her frustration, abruptly stood up, knocking Klaus's

paints to the floor in a dramatic display of rebellion. She stormed out, leaving a trail of disarray

in her wake.

Stolas, her eyes still on the unfolding drama, remarked to Elijah, "Notice how she went for the

paints and not the painting."

Elijah, ever the voice of reason, replied, "Don't overthink it. She's done worse."

Stolas hesitated for a moment, realizing the delicate nature of the Mikaelsons' family dynamics.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't discuss these things with you," she said, concern etched on her features.

Elijah, however, offered a reassuring smile. "I'm grateful you're here to help me put my family in

perspective. I'm often too close to the matter."

"If that's the case," Stolas responded, "I have a few more insights to offer."

Elijah extended his arm, a silent invitation, and Stolas took it. Together, they descended the

stairs and left the mansion, strolling through the town under the night sky. The streets were

quiet, allowing for a more intimate conversation.

As they walked, Stolas began to open up about her own immortal existence. "My father is King

Paimon," she confessed, "but I never received much attention from him."

Elijah, intrigued, asked, "And is that good or bad?"

Stolas pondered for a moment. "Still haven't decided," she admitted. "Maybe I'll let him out of

the box and then decide."

Elijah raised an eyebrow, a playful smile gracing his lips. "Do inform me first."

"It's an interesting parallel," Stolas continued, her thoughts drifting between their conversation

and the shared complexities of their immortal lives.

Elijah nodded in agreement, acknowledging the resonance in their experiences. The night air

carried a sense of shared understanding as they continued their stroll through the quiet town.

As the conversation unfolded, Stolas delicately broached a sensitive subject. "When your father

forced us to flee Spain," she began, choosing her words carefully, "I couldn't help but notice you

were confliced, to say the least."

Elijah's expression shifted, memories resurfacing. Stolas's words triggered a flashback to a

tumultuous moment in their past. The scene unfolded as Elijah and Klaus fought against their

relentless pursuer, Mikael. Stolas and Rebekah hurriedly boarded a ship, desperately calling for

Elijah and Klaus to join them.

In the midst of the intense confrontation with Mikael, Elijah found himself deeply upset with his

father. As Mikael relentlessly pursued them, Elijah couldn't contain his frustration any longer. He

stepped forward, stake in hand, and boldly confronted Mikael.

"We did not choose this life," Elijah declared, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and

desperation. "You can't keep trying to kill us!"

Mikael, unmoved, retorted, "And so you think you should live? Because it's not your fault?"

Elijah fell silent, his expression revealing the internal struggle. He knew Mikael was right in

some twisted way. The Mikaelsons were cursed with immortality, burdened by a life they didn't

choose.

Klaus, ever defiant, interjected, "You were always a horrible father!" With a swift motion, he took

the stake from Elijah and hurled it into Mikael's heart. "Come, brother!" Klaus called out, running

towards the waiting ship

Elijah, torn between his duty to his family and his desire for a semblance of normalcy, looked

back at Mikael's still body. In that moment, he pondered how he could mitigate the harm his

family did, even as he felt the weight of their immortal existence.

The scene shifted back to the present as Stolas called out, "Hello? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

Elijah, brought back to the current moment, met her gaze. "You're very observant."

Stolas smiled awkwardly, a hint of apology in her expression. "Sorry," she murmured, regret

evident in her eyes.

Elijah, however, shook his head and offered a reassuring smile. "It's what I like about you," he

admitted, appreciating her perceptiveness.

Stolas couldn't help but giggle, the tension dissipating. "I like you too," she confessed, a genuine

warmth in her voice.

Elijah's smile grew warmer, the connection between them deepening as they continued their

stroll through the quiet town. As they turned a corner, the mellifluous sound of jazz playing on

the street reached their ears.

The trio creating the melodic magic consisted of a trombonist, a clarinetist, and a drummer. A

small crowd had gathered, drawn to the rhythmic allure of the music. Stolas, captivated by the

scene, expressed, "How lovely."

Elijah, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, leaned in and whispered to her, "The clarinetist

steals their licks from the one two blocks over."

Stolas couldn't contain a giggle at Elijah's playful revelation. "Stop it," she chided him, though

her eyes sparkled with amusement.

Amidst the enchanting jazz melodies, Elijah and Stolas found a quiet spot to continue their

conversation. The ambient glow of the street lamps provided a soft illumination as they spoke in

hushed tones, the music weaving seamlessly into the fabric of their dialogue.

Stolas, still amused by Elijah's comment, couldn't resist teasingly remarking, "Well, imitation is

the sincerest form of flattery, isn't it?"

Elijah chuckled, appreciating the banter. "Indeed, though I suspect the original clarinetist might

beg to differ.