Volatile soul of the guilty

Music Recommendation: Without love- Serge Praded

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Maxwell strode into the chambers belonging to the kings of the Blackthorn palace, opening the door with such force that it banged against the wall. His eyes flamed red with anger, and his jaw clenched tightly before he shut the door closed to be alone. 

He walked to a small table, where bottles of alcohol sat, most of which were on the verge of being empty. He grabbed a bottle with a trembling hand, opened the lid and gulped down its contents before walking over to his cupboard. Opening a drawer, he dug down to the bottom of his clothes and pulled out a white handkerchief. 

Maxwell's fingers brushed over the fabric in his hand, and his hand stopped shaking while he stared at it and reminisced about the owner to whom it belonged. He remembered how Marianne had smiled that day at his confession. She answered him politely without looking at him before he caught her wrist to gain her attention.