Scene 1: Silent Watching
The moon hung low over the city of Bellarive, casting pale light over its cobblestone streets. Hidden in the shadows of a narrow alley, Atlas stood with his cloak pulled tight, his piercing eyes fixed on the small house at the edge of the market district.
Through the warm glow of the windows, he could see Leon moving about inside. The child, cradled in Leon's arms, giggled softly as Leon rocked him gently. Tristan entered the room moments later, placing a hand on Leon's shoulder. They exchanged quiet words, their expressions relaxed and intimate.
Atlas's jaw tightened as he leaned further into the shadows. Why can't I look away? The question burned in his mind, but the answer eluded him. Every fiber of his being told him to walk away, yet his feet stayed rooted to the ground.
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Scene 2: The Pull of Jealousy
Atlas pressed his back against the cold stone wall, his breaths shallow as the scene inside the house unfolded like a cruel play. Leon passed the child to Tristan, who held the boy with surprising ease. They laughed together as the child babbled excitedly.
They look like a family, Atlas thought bitterly. The words twisted in his mind, feeding a fire he didn't understand.
His chest tightened painfully as he clenched his fists. He hated the way Tristan touched Leon so easily, the way Leon smiled at him with such warmth. And the child... the boy's bright eyes felt like daggers, each glance cutting deeper into Atlas's already fragile psyche.
"Who are you to him?" Atlas muttered under his breath, his voice low and trembling. "Why does this... hurt so much?"
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Scene 3: Fractured Memories
Atlas's head throbbed as fragments of memory flickered in his mind. A warm smile. Gentle hands. A voice filled with laughter. The images were fleeting, slipping through his grasp like sand.
He pressed his palms to his temples, his breathing uneven. "Why can't I remember?" The frustration in his voice cracked into a low growl.
He leaned forward again, his eyes locking on Leon. The sight of him stirred something deep within—something fierce and primal. It wasn't just jealousy. It was need. A desperate, aching need to know him, to understand why this stranger had such a hold on his heart.
But then his gaze shifted to Tristan, who sat beside Leon, his hand lingering on Leon's arm as they spoke. The fire inside Atlas flared, consuming any remnants of reason.
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Scene 4: Madness Takes Hold
The hours dragged on, but Atlas remained in the shadows, watching as the lights in the house dimmed. He saw Leon carry the child to another room, likely to put him to bed. Tristan lingered in the main room, tidying up before settling into a chair with a book.
Atlas's mind raced. He wanted to storm into the house, to demand answers, to rip Tristan away from Leon and claim—Claim what? His thoughts spiraled. What right do I have? He doesn't even know me.
The cold night air did nothing to quell the fire burning inside him. Jealousy coiled around his heart like a vice, suffocating and relentless. Every moment Tristan spent near Leon felt like a personal affront, a betrayal of something Atlas couldn't even name.
"Who are you to him?" Atlas whispered again, his voice shaking. "What... am I to him?"
The answer didn't come. All that remained was the emptiness and the gnawing pain of not knowing.
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Scene 5: Despair in the Darkness
As the city fell silent and the streets emptied, Atlas remained rooted in place, his shadow blending into the alley. The lights in the house extinguished one by one, and he finally turned away, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the night.
Back in his guest quarters, Atlas paced the room like a caged animal, his mind a storm of emotion. The fragmented memories that haunted him felt more vivid now, each one teasing him with the promise of clarity before dissolving into nothing.
"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "Why do I feel this way?"
He slammed his fist against the wall, the sharp pain grounding him momentarily. But it wasn't enough to drown out the turmoil inside him. His jealousy had taken root, spreading like a poison. He hated Tristan for his place beside Leon. He hated the child for the joy he brought Leon. But most of all, he hated himself—for his weakness, for his confusion, for not knowing what he had lost.
Atlas sank to the floor, his head in his hands. The despair that clawed at him felt bottomless, dragging him further into the dark. And yet, even in the depths of his madness, one thought remained clear:
I can't stay away.