𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

─ 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐈

𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄

━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

THE SIGHT STILL TERRIFIED THEM despite having stood there in shock for over five minutes.

Words were carved into the walls, faint but clear. There was a puddle of what looked like a mixture of blood and water. But that wasn't the worse thing, it was the words drawn on the wall and the body of Wilbur beside it. He was bruised, badly and had fresh cuts littering his arms and other visible parts of him. Both of their stomachs churned at it, they didn't look like any normal cuts and bruises, no. They looked intentional, planned almost. It was psychopathic, the idea of strategically planning to hurt someone. His skin was pale, paler than they had been before. The bags under his eyes never left, however, having been on him for months now. The brown mess of tangles and curls of his brown hair were also the same. Perhaps those were the only constant traits he had now, dark circles around his eyes and his hair.

The expression on his face said it all. Even with his eyes closed and being unconscious she could see it. How broken he really was, how the days of isolation had gotten to him. Azalea could almost feel it. But she couldn't bring herself to imagine what he was going through, it was too painful. His shallow breaths were the only noises at that moment.

The red pigment dripped onto his shirt, the writing on the wall haunting them both. Tommy and Azalea truthfully did not know what to do. It was obvious they needed to get Wilbur out of there, out of the hell he was in. But how? How would they manage to get him out when it was clear someone, somewhere knew people were visiting him. The more she thought about it the more she came to realize there was no way of getting him out then and there. And  as much as she refused to admit it, she knew they would have to leave him behind tonight. They would have to leave without him in order to rescue him safely in the future.

But she hated it. She hated not being able to save him from whatever torture they were giving him. She hated not being able to hold him and tell him it was going to be fine. She hated not being able to give Tommy his brother back. She hated it. And in her heart she had a void, a pit where she held that hatred, not only for the reasons she thought of but for the person responsible. The only man alive who would do this,  the very man she grew to detest more as the day passed by. Schlatt. 

And that's when she made her vow, not only to herself but to Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Techno, and to whomever else was hurt by him, that she would do whatever she could to take him down.

Azalea was brought out of her thoughts when she heard sniffling beside her. On instinct she turned and looked at Tommy, glancing over him to check if he was physically hurt at all for any reason. But he wasn't, he was still. His eyes were hard, holding a newfound anger in them. Yet he couldn't control the hot tears pooling in his cerulean eyes. It was the second time she had seen him cry, and on both occasions her heart sank.

He did not deserve any of this. This poor, traumatized teenage boy deserves nothing less of love, in Azalea's eyes, he deserves so much that he sadly would never get. However, he was strong. Tommy was a strong and mature kid, whether people see it or not, he can handle situations even if he doesn't fully understand what all is going on or what is at stake. His heart is the majority of time in the right place, but he barely ever gets the opportunity to express it properly.