Where The Fall Started.

Critic-Ishire.

At the sound of his name, Theodore turned around, his eyes lighting up with a smile that Lydia had missed more than anything. Her gaze lingered on him, drinking in every detail. His golden locks, usually tied back, now fell freely over his broad shoulders, the strands shimmering in the light, as though begging her to run her fingers through them or tie a ribbon around them.

His face, with its chiselled jawline and full, dark brows, was as striking as ever, making her heart flutter. But it was his eyes—those crystal blue eyes—that truly captivated her. They were the colour of a clear summer sky, deep and endless, and they gazed upon her with a love that seemed to fill the entire world.

To Lydia, Theodore was the most handsome man on earth. She felt warmth spread through her, a blush rising to her cheeks as she admired the strong lines of his face, his noble nose, and his full, knowing lips—lips that had kissed her countless times, leaving her breathless each and every time.

Her eyes drifted to his broad shoulders and strong arms—arms that could lift her effortlessly, making her feel weightless, safe, and cherished. She remembered the way he had held her during their first dance, how it had felt to be lifted, to be adored so completely.

But it was not just his looks that made her heart race. It was the way he looked at her, the way he cared for her.

Theodore was a man who, to the world, seemed indifferent to society's trivialities. Yet for Lydia, he was everything. He was generous with his love, always ensuring that she felt valued and adored. Though he could be aloof and distant with others, he was different with her.

He tried to make the world a better place, not for his own benefit, but for hers. Every act of kindness, every effort he made to improve himself, was driven by his love for her. And it pained her to think that she had ever believed him gone.

"My love," he called to her, his voice rich and warm, his heart shining in his eyes.

Lydia frowned playfully, her heart swelling with affection. "My love?" she echoed teasingly, though her eyes softened with the depth of her feelings. How she adored him, this beautiful, strong, loving man who had captured her heart so completely.

"Gooseberry," he said with a smile, using the nickname that never failed to bring a blush to her cheeks.

She strolled toward him, his smile broadening as he watched her approach. The love he held for her was clear in his gaze, and to Lydia, Theodore was not just a man; he was her world, her everything. At that moment, she knew that as long as he was by her side, she had all she would ever need.

"My Gooseberry," he muttered, the words pleasing her ears as he softly took hold of her waist and turned her to face the night waterfall with him.

With his chin resting on her shoulder, he inquired, "Do you remember this place?"

She blinked, uncertain. She could not recall anything specific about this location. "It is a place away from you, Theo. I do not fancy it," she replied, her voice quiet. Pausing, she added with a soft frown, "I am simply happy that you are alive."

"Gooseberry, my love, this was where it all began," he said, his voice filled with meaning.

Lydia's curiosity was piqued. "What began, Theo?" she asked, her question met with silence.

"It is fall," he murmured, but suddenly, she no longer felt his warmth at her back. She turned around quickly, her heart skipping a beat.

"What...?" He was no longer behind her.

She frantically glanced around, and there he was—out of reach, his back turned to her. "Theodore!" she cried, but he did not respond, continuing to walk further away. Without thinking, she sprinted after him, her voice ringing with desperation. "Theodore?!"

Lydia jolted awake, her scream tearing through the stillness of the night. "Theo...!" Her heart raced as she struggled to deal with the separation from her husband.

Helena, who had been sleeping nearby on a makeshift bed of leaves and moss, was instantly on alert. She scrambled to Lydia's side, her eyes wide with fear, clamping a hand over her sister's mouth to stifle any further noise.

"Lydia!" Helena whisper-yelled, her voice thick with urgency. "Shh... oh my God, Lydia, wake up!"

Lydia sat up, her chest heaving, eyes wild with terror. The remnants of the dream clung to her mind like dark shadows, refusing to let go. Helena's heart pounded as she glanced around, the darkness of the forest pressing in on them, threatening to consume them.

"Lydia, you must be quiet!" Helena whispered urgently, gripping her sister's arm. "You will alert the creatures of our location at this rate!"

Lydia's wide eyes filled with lingering fear, but she nodded, her breathing still uneven. The forest was no place for mistakes. Every sound carried far in the night, and they were deep in the heart of a territory they barely understood. Creatures lurked in the shadows—unseen, but ever-present. Helena knew that Lydia's scream may very well have alerted them.

Helena sighed, her boots moving urgently to stamp out the fire. Lydia, her mind still clouded by the dream, struggled to comprehend what was happening. "Why are we packing?" she asked, her voice dazed.

"I think you have awoken every beast in this place, and we must flee," Helena replied, her voice tight with tension.

"Or hide," Lydia whispered, moving backward as she tried to regain her senses. Helena clenched her teeth, her eyes darting toward the shadows of the forest. They scrambled to gather their things, the soft bed of leaves beneath them rustling as they moved.

Lydia tried to calm herself, but it was too late. A low, guttural roar echoed through the trees, sending a shiver down her spine. The ground trembled as heavy footsteps pounded the earth, drawing closer with every passing second.

Helena's eyes widened in fear, and she shot Lydia a panicked look. "We must move, and quickly," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Another roar, louder this time, rang through the night. The air grew thick with danger as the creature neared, its presence overwhelming. Lydia's heart raced, and her legs felt weak beneath her. They had no time left—no time to think, only to act.