Crimson || Tom Riddle [1]

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞

The manor was still, wrapped in a suffocating silence. Snow blanketed the grounds outside, each flake falling with delicate precision.

Arabella's night had been thrilling. She had spent the night hunting in her woods, a vast stretch of land surrounding the manor that extended for kilometres and kilometres.

It was her favourite hunting ground, where the shadows were deep and the creatures that roamed were either sweet or sour. After her day with Tom, she thought she deserved a much-needed indulgence.

She had stalked her prey with the kind of patience only centuries could teach, savouring the thrill of the chase and the rush of satisfaction when she finally claimed her prize. The taste of blood still lingered on her tongue. Not even Albus and his curse could stop the pleasure of a good hunt.

Now, as she gazed out at the snow-covered landscape from her large bedroom, she felt a rare sense of contentment. The hunt had been satisfying, a perfect counterbalance to the frustratingly controlled day she had spent with Tom. She had needed the release, the reminder that she was still a predator at heart, no matter how much she played the role of hostess and ally.

But this day, Christmas, was just another reminder of everything she scorned. The thought alone was enough to make her scowl. A holiday drenched in sentimentality, an excuse for the weak to indulge in the illusion of warmth and kindness. It was a day wrapped in meaningless traditions, celebrating a joy she had never truly known. To Arabella, it was all meaningless.

Down the hall, Tom Riddle awoke in the guest room. The bed was comfortable, the room filled to the brim with anything Tom could need, but it lacked any warmth — much like the woman who owned it.

He rose and made his way to the adjoining bathroom. The shower was quick, and the steam barely had time to fog up the mirror before he was dressed, selecting one of the outfits Arabella had left in the closet.

When he finally descended to the kitchen, he found Arabella already there, adding finishing touches to the spread of breakfast she had prepared.

She noticed that Tom looked impeccable, as always. His dark eyes scanned the room before settling on her. Arabella offered a small smile, gesturing to the table.

"Good morning, Tom," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "I hope you slept well."

He didn't respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the breakfast spread before he finally nodded. "Well enough."

She took a seat and Tom followed, sitting across from her, and they began eating. "Merry Christmas," she said after a few minutes of silence.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"

Arabella sighed. "Not particularly. But I have something for you."

Tom's curiosity was piqued and he didn't bother masking his confusion. "Oh?"