FLORICIDE| tom riddle

nove

She's home. In Salernio. The place she tried so hard to escape from. The musical lilts of Italian around the corners should make her comfortable but it does anything but that.

"Where do you want to go now?" She manages to ask in a steady voice to Tom.

"Take me to your home."

"Why?"

"Just do as I say," he says with a warning grace in his tone.

Agnes wants to claw out her hair and scream into endless voids but she hardens her eyes and shakes her head. "I will do nothing of the sort."

She can feel the irritation bubble up in him and the sun falling on his raven hair embossing gold on black, royalty on evil, evil on royalty, none of that deters from him looking ironically angelic. Devils are always in disguise after all.

"You're just a man," she tells him with a smile.

"A man that can ruin you."

"You're sixteen years old. I can't take you seriously."

He looks at her with indignation. "I've killed people."

"I'm proud of you," she says dryly.

She stares at him intently and when he lifts up the corner of his mouth just an inch, she smirks. "I made you smile."

"I don't smile."

She moves forward and pokes his side. He flinches and she widens her eyes.

"You're ticklish!" she says giddily.

He glares at her and it looks could kill she'd be dead right now if she cared enough. "I'm not ticklish."

Raising an eyebrow challengingly, her hands reach out for his throat and when she tickles him, a laugh escapes out from his mouth. It's not cold and doesn't feel like a starless night. It feels like bursts of glitter warmly sprinkling on the walls of her heart because she's never seen him laugh like this. And soon enough it makes her laugh too. What are you doing to me, Tom Riddle? she thinks with horror.

He hears it. He's in her head again. Leverage for her making him laugh, for making him show weakness. Grabbing her hands from his neck, he pushes her backwards until she feels herself hitting a wall and then he pins her arms up her head and her breath stills.

The world is dimmed but right now, at this moment she and Riddle are in the spotlight, his scent swimming around her despairs, his breath on her lips, his forehead resting on hers, their heartbeats synchronising as invisible leather slithers up both of them to shield them from everyone else. Her eyes meet his. His eyes are unreadable, but captivating like the apple from the garden of eve.

And then she feels his finger touch her lips, parting them open slightly and she turns to move away her head but he's fast. Bergamot and toxicity. Toxicity and bergamot. She waits. And waits. And waits. His presence is too much to bear. His proximity is too much.

And then he pushes himself off her and walks away. Black heels clicking, a hand digging to a pocket to take out a flask of whiskey. A smirk gracing his features. A godly aura. "Am I too much for you, DeRosiers?"

She looks at him. "Don't be stupid," she mutters.

He takes a step close to her and she shakes her head tightly and moves away.

"You're very annoying but come, I'll take you to my house but I need to know why."

"We need a place to sleep."

She halts and turns to face him. "You need a place to sleep. I'm not letting you sleep there."

"Don't do this, love," he says mockingly.

Agnes rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Find a place to sleep. Sleep on the ground for all I care."

Then she signals to a man who was watching them for a while. "Trivia a questo signore un posto per una notte. Ti pagherà."

Find this gentleman a place to sleep for one night. He will pay you.

The man nods and beckons Ridde. "Come, I show you shelter."

"Don't follow me," Agnes tells him coldly and before he can say anything she runs away from him.