Cracked Mirrors | Remus Lupin

𝐓𝐞𝐧 | 𝐑

Story 3 | I hope It's Nice

Regret, rage, refusal.

They were the notes of a sad song, being played for days on end.

Her house of dreams stood in solemn silence, holding her captive in the center of its cold embrace. She couldn't remember how many hours or days she'd spent sitting on the floor, unmoving. But the stillness wasn't haunting. The restless strum of her bruised fingers against the cold strings coaxed forth melancholic melodies that hung heavy in the air. Her guitar was nestled comfortably in her lap. At least she knew she was still alive.

Regret, rage, resentment. It was on repeat again, with some minor changes in hopes of making a difference.

He wasn't here to witness it, so she assumed it wouldn't be any different. It was still the same sad song it used to be moments ago.

Y/N closed her eyes and sighed, her hand coming to a stop. Now that the room was fully silent, she could almost hear faint echoes of laughters, arguments, and never-ending conversations bouncing off the walls. And that was what she had tried to avoid by playing nonstop. That was what she didn't want to hear anymore. But his voice was everywhere, and his memories didn't want to leave.

They had to learn from him. It wasn't that hard for him to leave.

Her fingers almost caressed against the cold strings, but then her eyes settled on the glaring flames of the fireplace and she knew that she was too tired to continue. Sooner or later she had to face the reality. When she wasn't drawing sad songs out of her guitar, she had to recall all the questions that desperately sought to find an answer in her head.

And she finally let that happen, knowing that there was no convincing answer.

As if on cue, a throbbing pain spread over her back, shooting through the tense muscles of her shoulder. It felt like she hadn't moved for years. Her head hung low, eyes staring at the wooden surface of her guitar which was illuminated by the crackling fire. The questions didn't hesitate to rush to her mind from different corners, only adding to the pain.

Why did he go?

How could it all have ended like this?

Why did he have to end it at all?

She shook her head. All she knew was that she didn't know how to be something he would miss. All she knew was that she had turned into a prisoner, trapped in a place she used to call home. Now it was a prison, suffocating its only resident by thoughts and regrets and loneliness and confusion. She also knew that he wouldn't visit that prison ever again.

And that was it. No more, no less.

She used to think that they were in the middle of a new, sacred chapter in life. A chapter that was full of fond memories, careless laughters, late night talkings, unbreakable promises. A chapter that would never come to an unexpected end. Then how could he have filled years of unwritten stories with one last kiss?

He'd told her he loved her. So what made him go like this?

For days, she was paralyzed and in a state of disbelief, sitting alone and looking back at all the steps she'd taken in life, trying to find one slip-up that made everything go wrong. For days, pages were white and blank and uncertain, pining for the possibility of him returning and saying it was a silly game. A stupid joke just to test her.

But no. His leaving was the final closure.

Days turned into months.

And the lack of reasons made it all worse.