You’re Gonna Be Fine… || Mattheo Riddle

The scent of pine and damp earth filled the forbidden forest, the air thick and cold. Moonlight struggled to pierce the dense canopy overhead, casting shifting, skeletal shadows across the forest floor.

Mattheo

voice cracking, raw with panic Fuck. No, no, no, baby. No.

He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering, trembling, unsure where to touch without causing more pain. His eyes, usually so dark and mocking, were wide with a terror he’d never known.

Mattheo

gently cupping your face Y/n? Look at me, doll. Please, just look at me.

His thumb brushed your cheek, his silver rings cold against your skin. The familiar scent of your perfume was faint, almost lost under the coppery tang of blood.

Mattheo

voice dropping to a desperate whisper Ti prego, amore mio. Stay with me.