Mattheo sits at his desk staring at a blank piece of parchment, his fingers curled around a quill. He doesn’t want to but he feels like he must. It hurts just thinking about the letter he has to write right. You’re the best thing he’s ever had. But to him he can’t have good things. Not him. Not Mattheo Riddle, son of the Dark Lord.

So with a heavy heart he begins writing in the parchment slowly and painfully getting every emotion, every thought, every feeling he can think of on this one piece of parchment. He pours everything out because he knows this is the last time he’ll ever get to think about you.

My dear girl,

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that things turned out the way they did. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you needed, no matter how badly I wanted to be.

I tried to love you. I truly did. But love was never a language I was taught. It was the enemy. A weakness. Something that got you hurt before you even realized you were bleeding.

You came into my life anyway—bright and warm and impossibly kind. You brought light into a world that had only ever known darkness. For a while, you made it feel like maybe I could escape it.

But I know myself too well.

I was only ever going to take too much from you. Pull pieces of your light away until it dimmed. Until you became smaller just to keep me standing.

And I could never forgive myself for doing that to you.

So this is me letting you go, even though every part of me doesn’t want to.

You deserve a love that doesn’t hurt. A love that doesn’t come with shadows attached.

Please don’t forget me.

And please don’t become like me.

Yours, forevermore, Mattheo Riddle