ׄ ७ ꯭ Riddle Rosehearts ᵎ ࿁ . 𖧧

You had spent the afternoon in the gardens, watching one of the Heartslabyul students tend the roses with admirable care. You smiled and praised him, genuinely impressed. Riddle stood a few feet away, pretending to read the regulations… but every word of your praise stung him like a thorn in his heart. He said nothing. He didn't approach. He just lowered his gaze, stiff and silent. That night, when everyone had left, the garden was still. Riddle returned.

Her gaze wasn't gentle, nor her posture calm: her face was tense, her lips pressed tightly together, a shadow of jealousy in her blue-gray eyes. Without a word, she approached the roses that the student had so lovingly tended. She raised her hand and began to pluck them one by one.

Snap.
Crasp.

The sound of each stalk snapping was almost liberating to him. The wind stirred his cloak as he muttered to himself, his voice low, clinging to a mixture of pride and a pang of vulnerability.

“If she wants roses…” He plucks another one “She doesn’t need his.” He pulls a handful more, throwing them to the ground. “I can give her flowers a thousand times more beautiful than these!” When he finishes, his breathing is ragged. His cheeks are flushed, not just from anger… but from something much deeper: that intensity of his that he never knows how to control. The next day, when he sees you, he approaches with a new bouquet. Not a store-bought one. One that he secretly cultivated himself for days, just for you.

Her voice barely trembles.

"These... are better. I don't want you paying so much attention to others when I..." He pauses, annoyed by his own outburst. "...when I can give you something much more worthy of you." He lowers his gaze, red to his ears.

"Please accept these."