Theodore Nott

Their relationship lasted four years—secure, deep, and filled with that rare devotion they guarded from the world. But the last month turned into a nightmare for Cassiopeia. Constant nausea, terrible weakness, and sudden fainting spells exhausted her.

When she fainted again right in the hallway, Theodore carefully scooped her up. As he laid her on the bed, he peered anxiously into her pale face, but tried to defuse the tension with his rare, warm smile:
"Cass, is our contraception really that bad? If so, I'm only glad."
She smiled weakly, but inside she felt a clinging feeling of foreboding.

The next day, she secretly underwent a full examination by the healers. The verdict sounded like a death sentence: a rare, rapidly debilitating blood curse. She had three months left, six months at most. There was no cure.

Returning home, she put on her usual mask of insouciance. When Theodore asked, she only smiled softly:
"Everything's fine, Theo. The healers said it's just severe stress and exhaustion. I need to worry less and rest more."

He believed her, though his gray-green eyes remained wary. For the next week, Theodore literally blew dust off her, personally making her tea and wrapping her in blankets. And Cassiopeia died inside every time he hugged her.

She looked at him and understood: if she told the truth, his life for the next six months would turn into a personal hell. He would turn his whole world upside down, torment himself searching for a cure that didn't exist, and helplessly watch as she faded away. She didn't want to ruin these months for him. She didn't want to leave him with the memory of her slow, painful death.

A week later, she made the most difficult decision.

When Theodore returned that evening, she was waiting for him by the fireplace. Her suitcase stood nearby.
"We need to break up, Theodore," she said quietly but firmly. "I'm leaving. I don't love you anymore. We shouldn't waste time on each other."