Crimson || Tom Riddle

𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖚𝖉𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔

there is a place between death and desire

(and it wears his face)

it is soft here

not warm — never warm —
but soft like velvet laid over rot
sweet as a kiss pressed to a grave

his presence stains the walls of this place
you taste it on the air
books, ash, the faintest trace of blood
(yours. always yours.)

you remember the moment
not like a death —
but like prophecy

a knife, yes —
but it slid in like a secret
like something he'd been dying to say
something he had known for so long, but had held it in

you did not scream
of course you didn't
you were far too proud,
and far too hopeful with the idea that he would wait

wait for the confession
your secret. your curse. your soul
your immortality
wait for you to give him the thing he wanted most

but he does not wait
he never waits

he takes
that's all he knows

and he took you like he always meant to —
slowly
tenderly
as if undressing you, one layer at a time,
until your bones were bare beneath him

you felt it
him
the taste of his mouth still lingering between your teeth
his breath still threading through your lungs
his voice, still whispering mine
as if he didn't just bury you

you don't remember falling
only floating
only silence
so loud it cracked your ribs

and her —
always her
she calls you foolish

but she does not call you wrong

because you felt something
when he touched you like that
kissed you like that
killed you like that

you felt everything

and it was beautiful

(it was monstrous)

now you're here
in the lull between death and vengeance.
not alive. not dead. not done

his hands are still on you
in the way your limbs ache
in the ghostly press of fingertips down your spine
he carved himself into you

and when you rise —
(because you will)
you will not scream

you will smile
you will smile and smile and smile

and he will learn
that he cannot kill a demon

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

you called it a game

but it always felt more like a feast

and now you're choking

she was sweet, wasn't she?
like a forbidden fruit left too long on the branch
soft to the touch — bruised underneath
sickly
rotting
perfect

you peeled her apart with your mouth,
and she let you
she let you
she kissed you like it meant something,
like your lips were sacred,
like the fire between your teeth could save her

you kissed her back like it was the last thing you'd ever do
then you buried the knife between her ribs

not in front
no, not where she could see it coming
but from behind,
where all cowards strike

you aren't a coward
you are not a coward
you are not a coward
you are not a coward

she sank into your arms like it was an embrace
like she was grateful
blood in your hands,
her body folded against yours,
mouth still open from the kiss

you could taste her when she died
you still can

it's there —
in the hollows of your teeth,
behind your tongue,
burning your throat

you try to spit her out
but she clings.
she stains.
she spoils

she lied to you
over and over,
with that pretty mouth and those pretty eyes
bewitching voice
fire of a touch

immortal,
and she never said a word

you told her everything
your plans. your visions. your future —
and she sat there
older than Salazar himself
smiling

(or was she?)

she had the one thing you have bled for

and she let you starve

you were always going to kill her
but now you needed to
you had to

because if she was immortal,
she'd come back

and if she wasn't?
well
you would've won

but she hasn't come back
and it's been hours
too many hours

you tell yourself you're not waiting
you tell yourself this is over

but your hands still ache for her throat
your mouth still remembers hers
your eyes won't stop seeing her

you think about that kiss

the way it split you open
the way it lingers

like venom
like sin

and you realise —

you didn't kill her because she lied

you killed her
because you needed to know if anything about her was real.

you are not grieving

and if she comes back?

you'll kill her again

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪