Bound By Blood.

ch.46~The light won't find you.

"The joy I will feel, in ending all of you, will be worth everything I've been through. 

I fucking hate you."

Recovered Translated correspondents between Order Member Alexandra Brooks, to Death Eater Mattheo Riddle, 2003.

Riddle Manor, 2003.

Alexandra.

Pain erupted everywhere as I begged my eyes to open. 

It was as if they were pleading with me not to. 

The darkness behind my eyelids was thick, suffocating, and laced with an oppressive weight that threatened to steal my breath away.

Finally, I managed to pry them open, flooded with a dim, flickering light that came from a single torch mounted in the corner of the...dungeon?

I was in a fucking dungeon?!

The light cast long shadows that danced across the rough stone walls, each flicker revealing the grim reality of my surroundings. 

The walls were jagged, damp with humidity, and the air hung heavy with the scent of mildew and mold. 

I felt the chill creep into my bones, a stark contrast to the agonizing heat pooling in the places where the violence had been inflicted.

I could barely see, my eyelids were swollen.

I tested my wrist, the cold steel of the shackles biting into my skin. 

They held me fast to the wall, a cruel reminder of my captivity. 

I could feel the roughness of the stone beneath my back; the surface was uneven, scraping against my clothing, adding to the discomfort that seemed to echo through every nerve in my body.

I had gotten myself into this mess, and with my memories of the fight fading in and out.

It was Lorenzo Berkshire who had gotten his hands on me—I remembered his sneering face, how hair had hung over his eyes, concealing the hunger for chaos that lurked just beneath the surface. 

He'd always held a grudge against me, lingering just on the edges, and now he seemed to have claimed me as his prize.

Around me was a disarray of shrouded figures in the darkness, remnants of the dungeon's sordid history—empty cages, tattered remnants of old chains, and grime-covered floors that had borne witness to more brutality than anyone should ever endure. 

I strained against the chains, testing their hold, but they only ground into my wrists, sending searing pain lancing up my arm. 

Panic threatened to rise as my heart raced, reminding me just how vulnerable I was in this chilling environment. 

I needed to remain composed; I needed to find a way out, to keep my mind intact until help came.

Harry would come. 

Somewhere in the dark, I heard the faintest noise—a footfall, perhaps. 

My heart seized anew. 

Whether it was friend or foe, it didn't matter; I had to be strong. 

Maybe they were already out there, seeking me, and all I needed to do was hold on just a little longer.

Did he order this?