The Serpant's Heart (Mattheo Riddle)

A Haunting Dream

The moon cast a silvery glow through her window, painting the room in shadows that danced across the walls. Lennon felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, not with the weight of their conversation pressing down on her. But she had to at least try.

With a sigh, she changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. The sheets felt cold against her skin, and she pulled the blankets up to her chin. Her mind raced with thoughts of Harry, Mattheo, and the cryptic words he had spoken. Was there a way to save Harry, or was it all just a desperate hope that would lead her astray?

As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, she heard the soft whispers of the night. The wind outside her window sang a mournful tune, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth. Lennon knew she needed to rest, but her thoughts kept her wakeful. Her eyes searched the darkness for answers that weren't there.

The room grew colder, and she burrowed deeper into her blankets, pulling them up to her nose. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender, a comforting scent that usually lulled her to sleep. But tonight, it was the scent of fear and uncertainty that filled her nostrils. Her heart thudded in her chest, echoing through the quiet like a drum in a deserted battlefield.

Lennon is unable to sleep due to a disturbing conversation about Harry. The moonlit room feels cold and eerie, and her mind is preoccupied with fear and doubt. The scent of lavender fails to comfort her as she ponders over the cryptic words spoken by Mattheo, and the room's temperature drops, mirroring her anxiety.

Lennon, haunted by a disturbing conversation with Harry, lies in bed in her moonlit room. Despite her efforts to find comfort in the familiar scent of lavender on her blankets, fear and doubt about saving Harry keep her awake.

Her thoughts swirled around Mattheo's words, each one a puzzle piece she desperately needed to fit together. Was Harry in danger? And if so, from whom? The shadows grew longer, twisting and turning with her thoughts, reaching out like ghostly fingers to pluck at her fears.

The digital clock on her nightstand clicked over to 2 AM, its glowing blue numbers taunting her with the passage of time. Each second felt like an eternity, and Lennon's eyelids grew heavier with each tick. Yet, sleep remained elusive, a mirage just beyond her grasp.

With a resigned sigh, she rolled onto her side, curling into a tight ball. She closed her eyes, willing herself to drift into the oblivion of slumber. Her mind, however, had other plans. It replayed the conversation with Mattheo on a loop, his urgent whispers haunting her thoughts.

As the minutes dragged on, the room grew colder still. The whispers of the night grew louder, morphing into a cacophony that seemed to be speaking directly to her. It was as if the shadows themselves were sharing a secret, one that she could almost, but not quite, understand. She pulled the blankets tighter, the fabric now a shield against the invisible tormentors.

Despite her exhaustion, Lennon remains wakeful in her cold moonlit room, plagued by fear and doubt about Harry's situation. The conversation with Mattheo replays in her mind, hinting at danger and mystery. The shadows seem alive, whispering secrets she struggles to grasp, while the room's chill reflects her anxiety.

Despite the late hour, sleep eludes Lennon as she obsesses over her conversation with Mattheo. The room's chill seems to mirror her anxiety, and the shadows whisper secrets she can't quite decipher, keeping her trapped in a cycle of fear and doubt.

Her breaths grew shallow and uneven, her heartbeat matching the tempo of the whispers. She felt a strange energy build in her chest, a pressure that grew with every beat. The room spun around her, the walls seeming to breathe in and out like living things. The air grew thick and heavy, and she found it increasingly difficult to draw breath.