A Story of a Short Ending | T.R

Chapter 48 - The Melancholy

Nocturne by Blanco White 

Time dragged slowly; the sun rose and then set, repeating that all over again. The first day after their so-called lesson, everyone walked on eggshells around the Manor, even as Riddle didn't show his face for the entire day. Maybe it was fear that he was still furious and would do the same to someone else for simply breathing too loud or stepping a toe out of line.

Laion, with the help of Rosier and Viridian, was back to her bedroom after receiving a couple of healing potions, alongside several others, helping her gain back the lost blood and speed up the healing of her wounds. It's been tough; the internal wounds are much harder to treat, especially ones that have long-standing effects and were caused by the wand of Tom Riddle, who made sure they hurt.

Emma and Dirca stayed by her side, showing the door to the men even as they offered to stay and help. Angeline and Emily made trips to the brewing chambers when they needed more ointment or another healing potion. But as the minutes passed, the strength was slowly coming back to Laion, and once she was able to stand up without falling over, even through the burning in her chest, the burning of her wounds, she made everyone leave her alone, slamming the door shut in her way of a statement.

Maybe it was out of shame, maybe it was out of privacy or anger. But Liese's bedroom door stayed locked, not letting anyone in, just like Laion, who used magic to charm the lock and, as a precaution, pushed a nightstand to serve as a way to barricade. She knew that if someone wanted to, they would blast through that with magic in just a couple of seconds, but at least it showed that she didn't want to be disturbed.

Safe to say that barely anyone had gotten proper hours of sleep that night, as the sounds and pictures of what they witnessed that evening were too fresh in their minds. The threat of them experiencing that next kept people awake for hours before they finally drifted off to sleep. Their breakfast the next day was silent; it wasn't usually too lively either way, but the two empty spots by the head of the table served as a reminder that the events of the night weren't their dreams or nightmares.

The women stuck together after quickly finishing up their food. Right now, they wanted to feel anything remotely close to safety among themselves and that included getting away from those whose hands could bring them the most suffering. It was raining outside, but they didn't mind as Emily kindly offered to use her newfound skills to shield them from the gusts of wind and droplets of cold rain.

They sat in the gardens, drying the furniture and cozying up in blankets, as September's weather in their land was cold and wet, with winds strong enough to pick them up a couple of inches. As if the weather sympathised with them and their situation, shedding the tears they couldn't allow themselves to show. They were already considered weak; what would be of them if they had cried?

It was moments like these, when after making themselves believe they could possibly get used to this and make it through however long Riddle wanted them here, they were once more reminded that they were prisoners, nothing but women who were held hostage by the likes of a man who considered himself a high being, stronger and smarter than everyone else.

Their lives, wants, wishes, and dreams didn't matter to him. They had one purpose here: to follow orders. And if they dared to step out of line, they were quickly reined back in. That not only lowered their spirits but left them wondering if they would ever make it out of there alive. What was stopping Riddle from finishing what he started yesterday? With one wave of his wand and he could snap anyone's neck, but that was rather boring. He would probably let Lestrange play with them until he got bored and let them choke on their last breath.

It took some time to get them out of the wondering state, to make them stop asking questions and imagining possible what-ifs that were getting worse and worse with each passing thought. They couldn't change anything about their situation, they couldn't possibly escape and run, couldn't use Riddle's ways on him, but what they could do was be themselves. Each one of them was personally hand-picked by Riddle, meaning each of them had something unique that Riddle needed them for. He was powerful, but he couldn't do it all. Or else, he wouldn't have tolerated them in his space for so long.