Blood Lust : Tom Riddle

3: Her One Fear

Druella Rosier.

- 𖥧 -

[victoria's pov]

My brother in law's shouts pierced through my eardrums, making my head want to burst. It was not only that, but the blood that seeped out the back of my head slowly kept me paralysed as I was forced to watch everything helplessly.

Back in my old home in London was typically a cheerful and pink estate. But tonight, it was stained everywhere with a crimson red recklessly scattered around the house, a mess made by the rugged ugly man who had tricked himself in.

He had knocked on the door and my father, being the good man he was, allowed him in without a thought. Not a moment later, in split seconds, the ugly man swung for my father, tearing out his neck monstrously like a werewolf.

My mother was taken just moments after as the man's fingers dug into the flesh of her back, his ugly black-stoned ring being welded by her blood and the heat of her fear. Her death was slow and loud before it all fell silent, leaving my sister, Gwendelyn, and I sitting fearfully in the closet.

"Promise me you'll run," Gwendelyn whispered. "Promise me you'll keep your promise."

I could only shake my head unconfidently as I gripped her hand.

Her husband's screams were joined in the sound of flesh ripping just before the closet door was ripped open. At once, she charged with a failed attempt to get back at the monster. And there I saw it, his face. It was horrendous and looked purely evil as if he'd escaped hell to drag us there. As if he'd faced all the consequences known to man.

I scattered up to my feet and ran but his strong force shoved me as I banged against our glass table, my head being cut as I laid there with no control of my body.

I couldn't move as my eyes stared directly at the monster that towered over my sister's brutalised corpse. My brother in law shouted and he returned to him to finish his job. But when he returned to me, he stared down knowingly that I was alive.

There seemed to be a satisfied smirk on his face as his long, oily hair swept over his eyes.

"Dead men tell no tales," he snarled.

His voice was starky and cold with a playful banter. He then crouched down, kneeling over me.

"But dead women do."

- 𖥧 -

I jolted up from my bed with sweat soaking my forehead and back. I'd never feared anyone so much. In fact, Morfin Gaunt was the only thing I was afraid of.

While I was afraid of him, I researched part of his ancestry. I didn't learn much, as the ministry was trying to cover the fact that he's a heretic. He and his father, Marvolo Gaunt, had been arrested and charged countless times–most reasons being their infliction on muggles.

I even found myself near Little Hangleton, a few years back, and overheard that Morfin Gaunt had gone to Azkaban Prison for the murder of a neighbouring family. A muggle family, unsurprisingly. But from there, it only got worse.

There were tales that he had done unspeakable things to a sister he had. She was a squib, who eventually ran away and never returned. But my mind was now tainted with the horrible images of what Morfin Gaunt could have done to his own sister, despite being disgusted by her inability to perform magic properly...

Rather than dreaming or having nightmares, it was as if I was cursed to relive my life before I passed and became a vampire.