Crimson || Tom Riddle

𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

The candles flickered. Tom's wand was in his pocket, if he could just—

Cold hands, around his throat. One second, she was across the room. The next, she had slammed him against the stone wall. His skull cracked back hard. Tom grunted, but her strength — god, it was inhuman.

Her face was close, now. Slowly, veins appeared under her eyes, turning the skin grey and her eyes darkened, almost black. She wasn't breathing. Tom understood, now. She had always been dead.

"Seven days," she murmured. Her fingers curled tighter . "I was rotting for seven days. Do you know what that does to a girl?"

Tom didn't answer. Arabella's nails grazed his skin. Not cutting... yet.

"Did you miss me, darling?" Then she sneered, eyes flicking to the open coffin. "Or were you too busy playing with corpses? Gonna undress that one too? Place her in silk sheets?"

Tom didn't dare move.

Then, Arabella's lips perked upwards and out of nowhere, fangs began to grow. Her eyes alighted with a newfound excitement.

The room darkened. Or maybe it was just him. His vision tunnelled, the pressure against his neck too tight. Her grip didn't shake.

Arabella inhaled. Slowly. And smiled again, the fangs glinting. "Your heart," she purred, "is pounding."

Tom tried not to react. Not to move. He didn't know what to do. Arabella was too close, her breath too cold, her eyes too alive for a dead woman.

"Tom, darling, I can smell your fear. It's swimming inside your blood, filling the room with it. Do you know what else I smell?" She leaned even closer, head cocking to the side. "Desperation. You reek of it. Like an animal backed into a corner."

Arabella brushed her nose along the line of his jaw. Her fangs gleamed. "God, you don't understand how long I've been dreaming of this moment. Sinking my fangs riggght..." Tom felt a sharp point drag along the curve of his neck, above his veins, "here. Shall I tell you what your blood smells like? It smells like lies and betrayal. It's sweet and so intoxicating and I— you do not know how much I want to just drink it all."

Tom's hand twitched at his side. But she was faster.

She caught it. Twisted it behind his back.

He hissed.

"I should kill you. Right now. Drain you until there's nothing left but bones and lies."

A pause. Her lips brushed his throat.

"But I won't. Not yet. That would be too kind." Arabella ran her tongue across his throat, higher, kissing right below his ear, sucking. "Do you know what else I smell?"

She leaned back to look him in the eyes. "Your guilt."

Tom's jaw tightened. He titled his head further back.

"Your grief. You buried it in roses and silk, didn't you? Dressed me like a doll. Visited me every day." She laughed and it echoed off the walls, into his ears, ringing and ringing. It was the same laugh he told her corpse that he hated. And he never hated more than this moment.

"You tried to pretend I meant nothing. But you never stopped coming."

That was when Tom shifted. He tilted his head further back, looking down at her. "You're right," he finally said. "I should have stopped coming."

Arabella blinked.

"I should have burned you. Dumped your body in the lake and let the squid pick at your bones.

"But I didn't. I needed answers. I needed you to wake up and tell me the truth. Because you lied to me."

He shoved her back — not enough to hurt, just enough to make her stumble, surprised. Tom was breathing hard now, chest heaving, furious.

"You let me waste my time, my trust, my plans—"

He stepped forward. She didn't stop him.

"Do you know how many secrets I told you? How hard it was to make you my equal? How many nights I sat beside your corpse and demanded to know why?

"But you were always dead. Since before I killed you the first time. And I should have known."

Arabella tilted her head. Her smile was gone. Along with her fangs, her darkened eyes and veins.

"You should be grateful," Tom spat. "That I didn't rip that stake out of her heart and drive it into yours," he said, referring to the dead woman in the coffin.

Arabella just looked at him. Then, slowly, she smiled. Not the smile of someone who was amused. But the smile of someone who was starving.

"There he is," she whispered. "The boy who thinks he's a god."

She stepped forward again, brushing invisible dust from his collar and placing a palm against his cheek. "I was wondering when you'd come back."