Bound by Eternal Shadows "In the Shadows of Admiration."

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In a quiet corner of the mansion, she wandered into a vast library, its towering shelves filled with ancient books and forgotten knowledge. The room was bathed in a soft, amber glow from the few sconces lining the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. The air was thick with the musty scent of old parchment, mingling with the faint odor of dust that seemed to settle into every crevice. It was a place where time stood still, where the outside world ceased to exist, and all that mattered were the stories contained within the pages. Her footsteps echoed softly as she moved deeper into the labyrinth of shelves. Each book she passed held a promise of adventure, a whisper of secrets long buried. The spines, worn and cracked with age, bore titles in languages both familiar and forgotten, their leather covers rough under her fingertips. There was something almost reverent about the act of touching them, as though each book carried with it a fragment of the past, waiting to be uncovered. Drawn by an inexplicable curiosity, she reached out and pulled a random volume from its resting place. The book was heavy in her hands, its pages yellowed with age, the edges frayed from years of handling. She flipped through the pages, her eyes tracing the elegant, faded script and the intricate illustrations that adorned the margins. It was easy to imagine Professor Riddle himself seated in this very room, perhaps in the same spot she now occupied, absorbed in study, the weight of knowledge pressing upon him. She settled into a plush, well-worn couch, the fabric cool against her skin. The room’s silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional rustle of a turning page. The book in her hands captivated her, drawing her into its narrative, each word painting vivid images in her mind. Time seemed to slip away unnoticed, the hours blending together as she became lost in the story. At that moment, surrounded by the wisdom of ages and the comforting solitude of the library, she was no longer just an observer. She was a part of the room’s history, a fleeting presence in a place that had seen countless souls before her, each drawn to the allure of knowledge, each leaving a piece of themselves behind.

Unknown to her, a pair of watchful eyes observed her from the doorway. Professor Riddle had come looking for her after she had been gone for some time, and now he stood silently, his figure half-shrouded in the dim light filtering into the room. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed casually over his chest, as his eyes roamed over her with a quiet intensity. She was oblivious to his presence, completely absorbed in the book resting in her lap. The flicker of the candlelight cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of her brow as she immersed herself deeper into the story. There was a calmness about her that drew him in, a serene focus that made her seem almost ethereal in the ancient, dusty room. He took a moment to simply watch, his admiration growing with each passing second. The way she was so comfortably settled into the couch, her body relaxed yet her mind fully engaged, fascinated him. In that instant, he found himself drawn to the tranquility of the scene, as if by observing her, he too could share in the peacefulness of the moment. His thoughts, usually filled with the complexities of his work, were now centered on her—this quiet figure who had become a part of the library's history, just as much as the books that surrounded her. He wondered what she was reading, what thoughts were passing through her mind, and whether she knew just how much she intrigued him.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang of possessiveness as he watched her. She looked like she belonged in this room, among the ancient books and tomes, and yet, at the same time, she stood out from everything else—like a ray of sunlight breaking through the gloom. The contrast was striking, and it stirred something deep within him, a feeling he wasn’t quite sure how to name. As he stood there, he found himself torn, caught between the desire to disturb her peace and make her aware of his presence, and the urge to simply stay where he was, silently admiring her from afar. There was a strange satisfaction in just watching her, in seeing how naturally she fit into this space that was so intimately his. The way she sat, so at ease, completely absorbed in her reading, made him feel as though she was a part of the library itself—an integral, yet extraordinary, piece of his world. After a moment of internal conflict, he decided to remain where he was. He leaned more comfortably against the door frame, content to let her remain undisturbed in her tranquil bubble. There was a certain beauty in the stillness of the moment, in the quiet bond that formed between them, even though she was unaware of his presence. He could spend hours like this, just watching her, lost in admiration. A strange mixture of contentment and possessiveness washed over him. Seeing her so comfortable and at ease in the library—a place where he had spent countless hours alone—felt right, as though she belonged there. It wasn’t just the room she seemed to belong to, but the entire manor, and even more so, his life. The thought both unsettled and thrilled him, filling him with a deep, unspoken desire to keep her close, to make this scene a permanent part of his reality.

But at the same time, a possessive feeling surged through him—a fierce, almost primal instinct that told him she was his, that no one else should witness her like this. The sight of her so at ease in his home, so comfortably lost in a book while wearing his shirt, stirred something deep within him. It was as if this moment, this image of her, was something precious, something that belonged solely to him. He clenched his jaw, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy at the mere thought that someone else might stumble upon her like this. The idea of another set of eyes taking in this peaceful scene, of someone else appreciating the way she fit so perfectly into his world, ignited a protective urge within him. He wanted to shield her from prying eyes, to keep her hidden away, where only he could admire her in these quiet, intimate moments. His gaze lingered on her as she turned the page, her focus unwavering, her expression one of serene concentration. The simplicity of the act—her reading, absorbed and unguarded—only deepened his fascination. He was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, unable to look away. The desire that had been quietly simmering now flared hotter, mixing with the possessiveness that curled around his heart. Every movement she made, every soft breath, pulled him in further. She was like a piece of art in a gallery, meant to be observed and cherished, but only by him. He felt an almost desperate need to keep this moment for himself, to ensure that no one else could claim even a fraction of the connection he felt with her. In that instant, the thought of her being anything less than his was unbearable.

As she looked up, her doe eyes meeting his, Professor Riddle felt a small thrill course through him. He had been so captivated by the sight of her, so engrossed in the quiet reverie of watching her, that he hadn’t anticipated the moment when she would notice him. The sudden connection of their gazes caught him off guard, a spark of surprise mixed with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down his spine. For a brief second, he remained frozen, still leaning against the door frame, his expression carefully controlled. But beneath the composed exterior, his heart quickened. Those eyes of hers—wide, inquisitive, and slightly startled—had a way of pulling him in, of making him feel as though she could see right through him, unraveling the layers he kept so meticulously in place. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched the realization dawn on her face, the way her expression shifted from concentration to curiosity. He wondered what she saw in his eyes, if she could sense the possessive thoughts that had just been swirling in his mind, or if she simply saw him as her professor, the man who had silently entered the room and been content to observe from a distance. He straightened up slightly, pushing away from the door frame, but made no move to close the distance between them. Instead, he allowed himself to savor the thrill of being caught, of knowing that she was now aware of his presence, and perhaps even the intensity of his gaze. The quiet moment between them hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words and lingering emotions, as he met her gaze with a look that held a depth of feeling he hadn’t yet put into words.

He didn’t move from his stance, his arms still crossed, his gaze unwavering as he fixed his eyes on her. But as she tilted her head to the side, looking up at him with those large, innocent doe eyes, something inside him twisted sharply. The way she looked at him—so unguarded, so pure—sent a pang through his heart that was equal parts tenderness and desire. At that moment, she was more than just beautiful; she was utterly adorable, impossibly cute, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to cross the room in an instant. He wanted nothing more than to grab her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless, until she understood just how much she affected him. But he forced himself to stay rooted in place, his breath hitching as he struggled to maintain his composure. Seeing her like this, looking at him with such innocent eyes, was unraveling him in ways he didn’t want to admit. It stirred a fierce longing within him, a desire that was raw and unrelenting. He wanted to possess her, to keep her close, to make sure that no one else could ever witness this side of her. The thought of anyone else seeing her like this, so cute and unguarded, made the possessiveness inside him roar like a beast trying to break free. His grip on his crossed arms tightened, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep control. The intensity of his emotions was overwhelming, bordering on primal, but he knew he couldn’t give in to the urge—not here, not now. The line between what he wanted and what was right had never felt thinner, and the effort it took to remain composed was nearly unbearable. But he couldn’t afford to let his desires overtake him, no matter how powerful they were. So he forced himself to take a deep breath, to collect himself, even as every part of him screamed to close the distance between them. His gaze remained locked on hers, the storm of emotions carefully hidden behind a calm exterior, but inside, he was anything but composed. He wanted her—needed her—in a way that was almost frightening, yet he knew he had to keep those feelings in check, at least for now.

Adhi

She finally broke the silence, her voice soft but with a hint of amusement. "How long have you been standing there?"

Professor Riddle's eyes softened slightly at the sound of her voice, and he straightened, his posture relaxing just a fraction. He let a small, almost imperceptible smile touch his lips as he took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Mattheo

"Long enough," he replied, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of warmth. "I didn’t mean to intrude. I was merely enjoying the sight of you in such a peaceful moment."

His gaze lingered on her, the possessive intensity still simmering beneath the surface, but he kept his tone light and composed, careful not to let his deeper emotions slip through.

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The next update will be a little late, I have classes to attend today.so.. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I try to write more as today there might not be another update until night.

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2111 words ✨