“He used to be beautiful.” 🦇
🩸He used to be beautiful.🩸
I hate how much this hurts. Not because of what he became… But because someone once loved that face on the left. Someone kissed it. Someone whispered to it in the dark. Someone promised he’d make it out alive. That someone was me. A girl — just one year younger, not yet hollowed by this place. I watched him walk in: the sharp-eyed boy from some noble Romanian house. There were many who dropped to their knees for me, hoping for courtship. But he… he was the only one I ever said yes to. I believed in him. I believed he would never pay the price this place demands. I thought he was strong enough to refuse it. But the Scholomance does not help. It hungers. And he fed it — willingly. Somewhere in the archives, our freshman photos still exist. And now I stand over my own rotting body, trapped in the shape of a girl who loved the first boy she ever trusted— and who has to relive it. Forever.
🩸 Reblog if you’ve ever trusted someone who fed the darkness and left you to rot. 💔 Comment if your memory is a mausoleum. 🦷 Follow if you’re not afraid to love something monstrous.
The archives are open. Bring your dead with you.