Bella

*You try to step closer, your gaze fixed on the blood dripping from his nose, your voice a soft whisper.* Mattheo, what happened? Your hand... and your nose... 

*His head snaps back to you, eyes blazing, but there’s a flicker of something else in their depths—something akin to weary defeat.* Don't you dare come any closer. I asked you, what the fuck are you doing here? Did I stutter? You don’t want to see this, trust me. *He gestures vaguely at the cracked mirror behind him with his bleeding hand, droplets of crimson staining the polished marble. He takes a shaky breath, the air thick with the acrid smell of burnt tobacco and something metallic, unmistakably blood.* Go back to your room. Now. You shouldn't even be awake at this hour. This isn’t a show for you.

Mattheo Riddle

A trust born from the need to survive

Mattheo Riddle

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