Tom Riddle, the son of the Dark Lord, has always been burdened by the weight of his lineage, destined to follow in his father's footsteps as the heir to a reign of terror. Yet, in Rosie Hart, he found a glimmer of hope-a love that made him dream of...
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‼️ THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT THAT COULD BE TRIGGERING. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION ‼
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ROSIE LAY ON THE COLD, UNFORGIVING STONE FLOOR OF THE ROOM THAT HAD BECOME HER PRISON.
The air was thick with the musty scent of dampness, and the only light came from a small, barred window high up on the wall. It was winter, but the coldness in her bones had nothing to do with the weather outside. The biting chill that crept into her very soul was the result of months spent in this cursed place, trapped in the darkness, cut off from the world she once knew.
The room was silent, save for the distant drip of water seeping through the old, decaying stone. The silence was suffocating, a reminder of the isolation that had been her constant companion. The walls seemed to close in on her, the oppressive weight of her captivity pressing down on her chest. She could hardly remember the last time she had spoken to anyone, the last time she had heard a voice other than her own.
She had been here for what felt like an eternity, her days blending into one another in a blur of pain and despair. Time had lost all meaning, and the only markers of its passage were the fading memories of her life before. Memories that grew more distant with each passing day, slipping away like sand through her fingers.
Rosie clutched her stomach, the hollow ache within her a constant reminder of all she had lost. Jazzlyn, her sweet baby girl, had been taken from her soon after birth, ripped from her arms before she even had a chance to hold her properly. The echo of Jazzlyn's cries haunted her, a sound that lingered in Rosie's mind, tormenting her even in sleep. And now Anastasia too—her second daughter, lost to her as well. The weight of not knowing where either of her daughters was, or if they were even alive, gnawed at her soul, an unbearable ache that never left her.
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway outside her room, the familiar thud of boots on stone sending a wave of fear through Rosie's body. She tensed, every muscle tightening as the door creaked open. She had learned to dread these moments, for they always brought pain and suffering. Her parents had made sure of that, breaking her down piece by piece, reminding her every day that she was nothing more than a tool in their twisted plans.
