doomed [h.s]

eight: you're the solution

"The walls are a funeral, I run with ghosts
No hint of movement, no sign of pulse
Only an echo, just skin and bone
Then kick the chair but we, we help tie the rope."
» Doomed, bring me the horizon

tw: slightly mention of suicide.

✞︎

Rory had been looking for Harry all the first period break, anxious and eager to talk to him and tell him about what she had find out the day before. A witch, really? Had she dreamt it too? But when she woke up the next day and saw that box full of charms and the strange book, she knew it hadn't been her imagination. She still couldn't believe it, she even thought it was some kind of joke from her dad. But he would never do such a thing, he would never joke about her mom.

That morning, at breakfast time before they both left for their respective duties, Rory came into the kitchen with the box in hand and her father almost spilled the coffee on his suit, surprised to see what he knew so well and thought was hidden in the basement. Nervous and impressed, he asked her where she had gotten the box and Rory asked if he had left it in her room, Steven saying that he had not. They were both silent, confused by her answers, had it magically appeared on Rory's bed then?

However, they couldn't have a deep conversation in that moment to answer her doubts and thousands of questions, they were short of time, but the only thing her dad could tell her was that they would talk later, that the box indeed belonged to her mom and that everything in there was true.

She's a witch.

Finally, Rory found Harry, sitting under an old tree around dry, brown leaves falling slowly to the green grass, autumn somehow making him look like a work of art.

A melancholy, sad and beautiful artwork.

His eyes were closed and his head rested on the trunk with one leg extended and the other bent up, his arms crossed over his stomach, covering his hands with the sleeves of his grey sweater because of the cold.

Rory felt somewhat sorry for interrupting what seemed like a nap moment, also with a strange feeling spreading in her stomach at how pretty his curly chestnut-golden hair looked, his cheeks and nose rosy from the freezing weather, his plump cherry lips slightly pouting, his cute little moles and birthmark.

Flawless and ethereal he was.

Harry's eyes opened as he heard footsteps crunching on the dry leaves approaching him. When he saw the petite figure of his childhood friend, he sat up a little in the same position. She looked really pretty as always, a natural beauty that to many might go unnoticed but not to him.