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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ROSIE HAD LOST ALL SENSE OF TIME, THE DAYS MELDING INTO ONE ANOTHER IN AN AGONISING, RELENTLESS MONOTONY.
She no longer knew how long she had been a prisoner—perhaps a year, perhaps longer. March had come, and with it, a stark reminder that five months had passed since her 21st birthday, but even that knowledge had faded into a distant haze. Each day bled into the next, an endless cycle of bleak existence where survival had become the only thread connecting her to reality. The sun was no longer a marker of time. She had once tried to count the hours by the shifting light through the small, barred window in her cell, but it only taunted her with glimpses of a world she could no longer reach.
For nearly a year and a half, she had been trapped in this nightmare. It had started in the abandoned cottage, a bleak and desolate place where her parents had hidden her away from the world. The windows had been broken, the walls crumbling, and the wind had howled through the cracks, but at least there, she could feel the faintest trace of freedom—the endless expanse of fields that surrounded the cottage had been her only connection to the world beyond. In those early months, she had clung to hope, had fought to keep her mind sharp, believing that Tom would come for her. He had to. But as the months dragged on, even that hope began to wither.
Her parents had grown more ruthless. The cottage had been a temporary prison, but it wasn't enough. They moved her again, this time to a house far more sinister. On the outside, it looked like a modest Muggle home, tucked away on a quiet street where no one would give it a second glance. But the house was a deception, its walls steeped in dark magic, pulsing with enchantments designed to trap her within. From the moment she crossed the threshold, she knew that this house was different—this was a place of no escape. The doors were reinforced with spells that seared her skin whenever she tried to open them, the windows high and unyielding, and every corner seemed to close in on her. Even the air felt thick, as if suffocating her spirit, draining her will to fight.
Her parents had always been cold, but now their cruelty had become undeniable. Once, they had masked their intentions with false concern, hiding their true motives behind empty promises of safety and protection. But Rosie had known, even then, that something darker lurked beneath their words. She had known that their concern was a veil, a means to an end. Now, they no longer bothered with pretence. They were open in their malice, in their determination to bind her to the Dark Lord's will.
