Elijah fell silent, knowing all too well that all this would achieve was an impasse. He would not be able to persuade her, nor she him. It didn't matter now, anyway. None of it did. He did not press further, nor ask for her reasons. It was clear enough. He'd helped Klaus in spite of it because he supported his half-brother's quest to find a true family of his own. But it was no longer a family Klaus wanted. It was an army, a tribute to hubris—as God had created man in his image, Klaus would have his race to worship and to wage war for him.
"Prague, 1764." He was no longer feigning interest in his surroundings, but he would not look on her face as he uttered these words. "That's when he kills you." He remembered every date, every location. The days for mourning were long past, however, and his face now was unreadable.