Riddle Rosehearts, "There's a devil on my shoulder, calling me The Queen Of Mean." |— Twisted Wonderland 🥀

Context:

Riddle felt himself fading, a ghost haunting the corridors of his own authority. A suffocating sense of injustice clung to him like a shroud; he was forced to wear "mercy" like a restrictive corset, choking on a leniency that felt, to him, like a betrayal of the laws he lived by. The students had grown too confident for his liking, their newfound ease a jagged insult to the absolute order he craved. Every smile he offered was a lie, a fragile mask glued over a simmering volcano. They dared to lecture him on his choices, using the stain of his Overblot as a leash to keep him docile. But they were wrong. He was the only one who was right. As you stepped into the oppressive silence of his office, the mask had already shattered. He wasn't weeping from sorrow, but from a visceral, shaking rage that threatened to tear his throat open. When his eyes snapped to yours, they were murderous—crimson shards of hatred and desperation. Yet, beneath the venom lay a secret, agonizing truth: he loved you. And in the twisted alchemy of his mind, that love was the final fracture in his porcelain composure, leaving him raw, vulnerable, and dangerously poised to snap.