BEAUTIFUL FLOWER | MATTHEO RIDDLE

CHAPTER FORTY NINE

T R I G G E R W A R
N I N G

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MATTHEO RIDDLE IS YASMINE AMAROS. CALANTHA, EPIPHANY, ERISED, LANA, VASILI, KASSANDRA, NICCOLÒ, AND DAÌNN ARE MINE. ALL OTHERS UNLESS MENTIONED ARE JK RO*LINGS.

─── ･ ｡ ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

F O R T Y N I N E

SOMETIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE

I NEVER imagined myself here. Surrounded by so much chaos, and pain; so afraid of not knowing how it all would end. The world around me, blanketed by the brightest of all sacrificed darkness, was falling and failing to rebuild. The screams, so alive in song, seemed to fall under the rain, to dance with the wind, never going silent. I could tell, just by being here, whether or not any of this would exist after, that those who heard the lost cries, would never be able to stop hearing them.

My feet hit the marbled floors as if my life depended on it–which, in truth, no matter how dark, it did. Every corner looked the same, all broken and blanketed by rain. Half of the castle's head was blown completely off, revealing the night sky; I could see that I was running towards it, noticing that the next hundred steps in front of me were corrupted by shadowy darkness and visible rain sleeting sideways, blown by the wind.

I had no intent of actually going anywhere; I didn't know where to go. Outside, the amount of hexes and curses being thrown around would be liable... but inside was far worse.

I wondered to myself, trying to run faster, to get to someone, anyone that I knew. Anyone to say goodbye to. Were my friends part of those screams? Those cries for help, none of which would be answered, did any of them belong to Epiphany? Kassandra? Erised?

There was a loud rumble, and specks of something sharp tickled the side of my face, and coldness crept in. My chest hit the floor before I could understand what was happening, and the ringing in my ears drowned out any other sounds. I felt the earth shake beneath my stomach.

The ground under my cheek was wet and warm, so I lay there, head pounding and hands coated with blood. When I rubbed my fingers together for any sensation of touch, I felt the warm, sticky liquid all over. I couldn't tell if my eyes were closed or not, but everything was very dark, and spinning. I could fall asleep here, on the floor of whatever corridor I was in. My fingers felt tingly, and coldness crept up my legs.

Get up, Calantha. That beautiful voice inside of my head begged. It was him. Not here, Calantha, you must get up.

Hands, small ones, turned my head to the side, so that I could feel the slipperiness of the ground on my skin. Seconds later I was rolled completely over by these small hands. My breathing was so shaken and uneven, my whole temple trembled. But those hands.

Whoever they belonged to began to cup my face, shaking me. My weight brought me back into a hard surface behind me, my eyes still shut, hands still warm. Cold air hit my skin, and those small hands grabbed me once again.

I could stay like this forever; in the dark silence that seemed eternal and unending, held by these hands. It felt like salvation, this quiet, dark place, with nothing keeping me up but these silky palms; to hear none of the war outside, to see none of the bloodshed and death painting the last standing walls of the castle.