𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 | 𝐌.𝐑 |

𝟎𝟒𝟐 - 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

𝐢𝐫𝐥

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ʚ 3rd person ɞ

           WITH EACH STEP Mattheo took up the imposing staircase of Riddle Manor, he felt the weight of his own helplessness settle like an anchor in his chest. The echo of Tom and Angel's embrace lingered, an indelible reminder of a connection that had once been exclusively his. Ignoring the searing pain in his heart, Mattheo pressed on, each footfall a reluctant concession to a reality he could no longer deny.

As he reached his destination, Mattheo entered the sanctuary of his dark green room. The walls, adorned with shadows that mirrored the turmoil within him, bore witness to the silent struggle playing out in the depths of his soul. He sank onto his bed, the same bed where countless whispered confessions and shared moments had once unfolded between him and Angel.

The emptiness in the room mirrored the void that had settled within Mattheo. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the fabric of the bedspread, a futile attempt to grasp the intangible and reconcile with the irreparable. The room, once a haven of shared laughter and stolen glances, now felt like a mausoleum of memories that refused to fade.

Mattheo's heart, aching with the absence of Angel's love, held a silent lament for the moments they had lost. The air itself seemed to carry the weight of his longing as he sat in solitude, missing the warmth of Angel's presence that had once filled every corner of this room. The dark green walls, once witnesses to the passionate hues of their connection, now stood as silent sentinels to the void that remained.

As Mattheo gazed into the depths of the room, his thoughts became a torrent of what-ifs and could-have-beens. The pain, a relentless ache in his chest, reminded him that there was nothing he could do to compel Angel back into the folds of his love. The knowledge that she had found solace in another's embrace gnawed at him, a bitter truth he struggled to accept.

In the stillness of his dark green room, Mattheo grappled with the inevitability of a love lost. The walls, the bed, the very air he breathed seemed to echo with the melancholy of his unspoken yearning. As he sat in the solitude that now defined his once vibrant sanctuary, Mattheo missed Angel not only as a presence but as the embodiment of a love that had slipped through his fingers, leaving behind an ache that resonated in the silent corners of his heart.

Astoria entered Mattheo's dark green room with a book in hand, intending to share a moment of respite amidst the intricate corridors of Riddle Manor. However, as her eyes fell upon Mattheo, the atmosphere shifted, and concern etched across her features. Without hesitation, she rushed to his side, her genuine care eclipsing the initial intention of her visit.

"Mattheo, are you okay?" Astoria's voice carried a gentle urgency, a genuine worry that mirrored the lines of confusion etched on her face. Mattheo, enveloped in the shadows of his emotions, struggled to find words. He merely nodded, his eyes betraying the storm raging within.

As Astoria sat beside him, the book now forgotten, Mattheo's composure crumbled. The dam that held back his emotions ruptured, and tears flowed freely. Astoria, though initially taken aback, instinctively wrapped her arms around him, offering the solace of her presence. Mattheo, in the vulnerability of his grief, finding yet again anchor in Astoria's comforting embrace.