Messy love | Matheo Riddle

9

CHAPTER 9
TW: ab*se

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CHAPTER 9 - CRUCIARTIS
" You cannot further ruin, a ruined person"
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POV OF MATHEO RIDDLE

In the enigmatic realm of my existence, I harbor a belief that masks are veils concealing the true essence of every being. Words, actions and loyalties proclaimed by pitful beings are nothing but ephemeral illusions woven into the tapestry of deception.  Regardless of linage, identity or echoes of voices reaching distant hills, beneath the veneer of virtue lies the inherit nature of betrayal.

Humans, wizards and witches are creatures of desire. Desire thrives a relentless creature. Once they taste the nectar of longing, insatiable greed expands like a perennial flower, ceaseless in its growth, seeking the greater, the better, the stronger. 

Many are afraid to admit openly  because of the harm it would do to the useless reputation. But I for one, will chose the path of ignorance. Because, If I cared about the harm and destruction I have caused, I am no less than a coward.

In the shadows of my past,

There are things I saw that not even the mightiest wizard amongst all can bear to endure,
Unfolding events that defy justification by the grandest judges, 
Sickening Memories that not even the most powerful spells can erase.

And yet, I endured it all.

I was 4. We were playing a peculiar game. Mother and a son. Not a joyous game between a loving mother and a playful son. But an eerie tableau of a loveless bond.

Enveloped in bedsheets, I'd fixate my gaze upon the ceiling as her dark grace entered, whispering words as angelic as oceanic murmurs, yet deafening the weight of cruelty that followed along. 

"Worthless"

"Burden"

"Filthy"

A silent understanding prevailed -  a mutual understanding between us that I was understanding and absorbing all the words she said. I believe she was never really satisfied with my expressions. She wanted to commence a downpour of torment.

Her words, there on after, only turned more and more harming and hurting. Such that tears traced my cheeks.

That very night was perhaps the beginning to a rainfall of torture and pain I endured after from that horrid woman of whom I which I call my mother - Bellatrix Lestrange —The woman that destroyed my life.

The cruciatus curse was like a malevolent friend. He stopped by on the nights my mother haunted my room —where she demanded for his awakening.  Like friends who would give you an alleviating
feeling when you hung out with them, my dear friend gave me pain, agony and misery with the help of my loving mother.

When that vicious cycle were to finally end,  she'd lay back with me on the bed whispering something that still lingers within me today, "you look just like your father" she'd look at me with loving eyes, "the only difference is, you are covered in blood and he isn't" her hands would softly glide through my hair, in affection.