Departing had seemed the solution of aptness, for, as the binary of opposites dictated, the only other had been staying. And staying was a fate he couldn't have risked for either of them. (Though he'd damn himself in the countless centuries to come, should he confess his concern for the woman of his existence-spanning affection aloud.) Primarily, his fleeing had birthed itself from self-preservation -- an instinct innate to the never relenting game of survival. And, by nature of his leaving's meaning, Klaus' return appeared idiotic. Yet the hybrid could no more move his feet to segregate them again, than could he remove the woman from the place in his psyche she'd inhibited since his days as mortal.
Hooping his arms behind his back in a reversed brace, Klaus clapped his lips and spoke. "Tatia." Is all he finds.
