elysium | tom riddle

32 | act ii, scene vii

W A R N I N G

Mentions of violence and blood. Knife usage.

╔═════ °• ✠ •° ═════╗

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖙𝖜𝖔

╚═════ °• ✠ •° ═════╝

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 flesh was humiliation.

Tom noticed that as his fingers grazed the knife meant to cut food. He sat on a big oak table in the Room of Requirement, presiding over his den of iniquity and indulging in his heart's desires to give his disciples watching a shiver of fear and a story to whisper.

The knights all had a goblet in their hands, and exquisite food lay on the table, but no one tried to touch it. They were supposed to be eating. After all, it was their time for lunch. Riddle had convened a meeting to see if anyone had found any information regarding a certain assassin.

He assessed the six figures before him, three on his left and three on his right. He stood at the head of the table looking like an ethereal sovereign of sorts, holding a golden goblet so hard his fingers ached. Part of him wanted to grab the knife and throw it at Parkinson for what she had done.

"I'm sorry, my lord." Parkinson bowed her head in shame. Her onyx locks hide her face.

Tom scoffed. "I did not know why I even followed your advice. I thought you were an expert when it came to seducing and intimidating Parkinson"—he threw the golden goblet on the table with so much force that his knights flinched at the sudden sound, wine spilling and ruining the expensive tablecloth— "If at least one of you were useful enough to get information about Velasquez then we wouldn't find ourselves in this predicament."

His words were filled with rage. He had that fondness for blood to be spilled, so characteristic of supreme gods.

Ariadne Velasquez was becoming a problem. None of them, not any of his knights, had been able to find information about her. The only thing in files with her name was her blood status, full name, and birthday.

"It's not Pansy's fault," Malfoy bit out. "It's not our fault you failed to make her let her guard down."

Tom turned to him, trying to breathe. He was about to cast the Cruciatus Curse on him before Nott interrupted.

"What Malfoy is trying to say, I think," Theo started, glancing warily between Draco and Tom, "is that Ariadne is not someone who will be easy to intimidate. She knows those tactics, and she won't fall for them."

"At least," Blaise spoke, pursing his lips. "She was pretty enough for the experience not to be unpleasant."

Tom was tempted to roll his eyes but refrained from doing so. Did they really think that beauty was all that mattered? Beauty was not permanent. It was temporary and bound to end. To believe that appearance was all that mattered was shallow. Yes, the assassin's beauty was like the edge of a sharp knife, but that was not important to Tom. He valued intellect, usefulness, power. Ariadne had all that, he was sure. She had used Yasmine to get close to Harry. She had used Levina to get close to Celestia, and she had used Celestia so she could infiltrate the ball and attempt to kill him. In the end, Ariadne was not significantly different from Tom.