Mattheo Riddle doesn’t fall apart all at once. He fades. Until he starts watching her — celebrating the small wins like they’re triumphs, and he can’t help but watch. Somewhere between shared books and silent afternoons, he starts remembering how to live. Only now, there are new feelings in the mix.
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@ellssThe dungeons were cold, even in September. The air smelled of damp stone, pickled ingredients, and the faint, acrid tang of a hundred simmering cauldrons.
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