SWAN SONG; tom riddle

𝖝𝖎𝖎

dear tom,

how does the bastard of the most prestige family in the wizarding world somehow hold enough pride to challenge a city?

what in devils name are you so fucking proud of?

you're a murderer, a liar, a manipulator and i'm sure you've done much worse when i wasn't around.

          you preach blood superiority but you yourself are filled to the brim with diluted magic-less blood. 

          and what's worse? you tangle with the likes of mudbloods like me when you're practically one yourself.

when your subordinates swallow your lies and pretend they're truths does it make you feel like a man? does it douse the flames of your blazing god-complex?

i hope so.

but tread carefully, tom. you know what they say about pride being the prelude to the fall.

and if your downfall isn't poetic justice, i don't know what the fuck is.

yours,
florizel