𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 | Tom Riddle

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 12

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 12

Angeline "ange" Fleur De Nuit awoke to the first rays of morning light filtering through her window. She stretched lazily, only to notice something unusual: a fresh bouquet of roses lying just outside her door. With a furrowed brow, she slipped out of bed and picked them up, spotting a small note attached.

"𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓐.𝓥."

A mischievous grin curled her lips. "𝓐.𝓥.," she pondered, reading the initials out loud. "A Vampire?" she mused, immediately thinking of Rosier. Roses were his signature, after all. Although roses were her favourite, she dismissed the gesture with a roll of her eyes. He was so desperate.

As Ange made her way down the grand staircase of the manor, her eyes on her book, a small, glittering phial of perfume floated into her path. The bottle twirled elegantly in the air, its tag catching the light.

"𝒯𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒, 𝐼 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐹𝓁𝑒𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑒 𝒩𝓊𝒾𝓉."

She popped off the cap and took a tentative sniff. Vanilla and roses. How quaint, she thought. But Ange didn't need perfume. Her skin had a natural aroma, like the comforting smell of burnt chicken nuggets with just a hint of the fresh kind mixed in, too. Why would she ever want to mask that? Who on earth dared send her this abomination!!

With a dismissive huff, she waved the perfume away and continued her walk outside, where she planned to enjoy a quiet morning with her book and a hot drink. The manor's grounds were peaceful, with only the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of bees. That peace was quickly interrupted when she heard a rustling sound in the bushes beside her.

"Ugh, Travers, is that you lurking again?" she groaned, not even looking up from her book. "Get the fuck out of there, you weirdo!"

But instead of the skittish, shifty-eyed Travers, a confident figure emerged. He stepped out with a grace and elegance that immediately made Ange's heart skip a beat. His hair was a perfect shade of dark blond, tousled just so, and his eyes held a mischievous green glint, both inviting and dangerous. His presence was magnetic, with a refined yet wild allure that Ange couldn't quite place.

He began to sing, his voice rich and soulful, echoing the heart-wrenching strains of "Whyyyy does my heart cry?" The melody carried through the air, each note drawing Ange's attention as though it had a will of its own.

The man continued to approach, and Ange recognized him—it was Alden Viridian, but he was different. He moved with a smooth, almost feline grace, like a predator who knew exactly how to ensnare his prey. His smile was wicked and full of secrets, his posture that of a man who knew he could have anything he wanted. The way he tilted his head as he looked at her, the way his fingers brushed a lock of his golden hair away from his face—it was all so disarmingly perfect.

"What do you think, Angeline?" Alden asked, his voice smooth as honey. "Does the morning suit you as well as it suits me?"

Ange blinked, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. "What are you doing sneaking up on me like that? And—" she squinted at him, suddenly suspicious, "—was it you who sent me that perfume because you think I stink? You said I needed a bath the other day!!"

Alden's smile widened. "Why would I need to, when you already have such a... unique aroma? Like all the fried foods I've ever desired.... Simply scrumptious." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But no, Angeline. I'm more interested in your natural scent than masking it. It's... fascinating."

Ange huffed, stepping back from his unnerving closeness. "You're just trying to steal my ASMR ideas! You think you can just waltz in here and outdo me?"

His laughter was soft and melodic, carrying the same bewitching quality as his singing. "Why would I steal your ideas when I could inspire you to come up with better ones?"

Ange narrowed her eyes, irritated and flustered in equal measure. "You're insufferable," she snapped, storming off in a huff. But as she left, her thoughts strayed back to the roses she'd received that morning. 𝓐.𝓥.—A Vampire. Surely that had to be Rosier. Who else could it be? Her thoughts circled back to Rosier as she headed back into the manor, her frustration with 𝓐lden 𝓥iridian fueling her determination to one-up him in the ASMR world.

☢🍮

Back in her room, Ange got to work. If Alden thought he could outdo her, he had another thing coming. She set up her camera, adjusting the backdrop to a deep, shadowy black. Her new YouTube channel needed to make a statement, and she knew just the way to do it.

She'd had a strange vision the night before, a figure with waxy white skin, red eyes, and a serpentine nose. The image was so striking, so unnerving, that it would make the perfect centrepiece for her debut ASMR video on her new channel. She grabbed her bald cap, false nails, and a set of dark robes. This would be her masterpiece.

As she hit the record button, Ange slipped into character. Her voice dropped to a sinister hiss, and a strange laugh bubbled up from the depths of her throat. She began speaking in tongues, the words flowing like a dark melody, designed to send shivers down the spine of anyone who heard it.

Mid-sentence, something shifted in the corner of her eye. She whipped around, only to find Travers hiding behind her mirror.

"TRAVERS!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "For fuck's sake, get out! I'm filming the best ASMR video in history, and you're ruining it!"

Travers scampered off, disappearing into the shadows like the creepy little rat he was. Ange was about to continue when she heard something strange—a soft, eerie organ playing somewhere in the distance. She turned, her gaze drawn to the mirror.

There, in the reflection, a figure loomed. He wore a half-mask, obscuring part of his face, and a black cloak that seemed to blend into the shadows. Before she could react, the figure vanished, but the haunting organ music continued to play, filling the room with its ominous melody.

Then, as if from nowhere, a voice whispered through the air, soft and seductive. "Come to me... my fallen angel."

Ange, still dressed in her bald cap, black robes, long back nails and prosthetics, felt a pull, an irresistible force drawing her towards the door. The voice and music guided her through the darkened corridors of the manor, deeper into the unknown.