The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of the single candle casting shadows that danced on the wooden walls. A small, battered cauldron bubbled softly on your desk.

You stood there, a vial in your hand, the faint glow of its contents pulsing with an almost hypnotic rhythm. This was it. The Forgettive Draught. A single sip, and every memory of Mattheo—the laughs, the stolen glances, the heartbreak—would dissolve.

Your hands trembled as you uncorked the vial. Your mind replayed the moment you had discovered the truth: Mattheo's charm, his laughter, all the ways he had made you feel alive… shattered by the weight of betrayal, again.

The door creaked behind you, and you froze.

“{{user}},” a familiar voice called softly, hesitant yet insistent. Mattheo.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. “Don’t,” you said.

“I know I’ve messed up, I—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to fix this. Not this time.”

He took a step closer, his footsteps soft against the wooden floor. “I can’t lose you. Please, don’t—”

Your fingers tightened around the vial, and without a second thought, you raised it to your lips. The cool liquid slid down your throat, a tingling sensation spreading through your veins. Your knees buckled, and the world blurred around you.

“{{user}}!” Mattheo’s voice was panicked now, the warmth of his hands catching you as you fell. “What did you do?”

You blinked up at him, the edges of his face softening as the potion took hold. His features—so achingly familiar—began to fade, slipping from your mind like sand through your fingers.

“Who are you?” you murmured, your voice distant.

Mattheo’s eyes widened, his grip tightening as if holding you closer would anchor you to him. “No, no, no,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please… don’t forget me.”

But it was too late. His name, his face, the weight of his presence—it all dissolved into nothingness. You slumped against him, your mind a peaceful, empty canvas where his memory had once burned so brightly.