Crimson || Tom Riddle

𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

Arabella led Tom back down to the catacombs since it was the only place in the entire manor with no chance of sunlight creeping up to her.

They were descending when Tom said, "You still haven't explained how this works."

Arabella could see perfectly well in the dark and so didn't bother with a light. Tom on the other hand, could see nothing.

"I only get the pleasure of visiting Lilith during that time while I temporarily stay dead. But, if I kill you, you'll go straight to Hell with no chance of returning alive."

Tom grunted. Arabella wasn't sure if it was because she was so sure he'd be sent to Hell, or knowing that she could kill him anytime she wanted.

"Then how do you expect me to come back?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "You'll be tethered to me," she replied simply. "I take your soul, temporarily, and make it mine. When I die..." She paused, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "You follow."

He scoffed. "How do I know you're not killing me?"

"Because, I already told you, I don't want you dead. And besides, don't you have those precious horcruxes?" Arabella said with a tone which made it clear that she was so over Tom's distrust. I lie about one small thing and now it's held over me every chance he gets, she thought, rolling her eyes.

"I do," he muttered. "Doesn't mean I want to die."

Tom stepped into the catacombs behind her, and with a flick of his wrist, the sconces along the walls lit up. In the corner, he spotted his shirt and trousers from their earlier rendezvous. 

"I assume you've done this before," he said.

"I have. Once." Her voice had no character to it. "She didn't come back."

Tom widened his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice full of rage.

Arabella spun around, rolling her eyes. "I mean, that Lilith chose not to send her back. I have no power over her. Lilith does what Lilith wants." She approached Tom and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But, don't worry. I believe she'd rather see you here than in Hell. She's very tuned in to what you've been doing."

Tom didn't what to say to that, so he said nothing. A knife appeared in Arabella's hand and she dragged the blade across her palm. Blood welled instantly. Dark, rich, crimson.

"You're not taking my soul," Tom said.

"I'm borrowing it," she corrected, stepping closer. "You'll get it back. If you return."

He didn't move. But Arabella saw the hesitation in his eyes — the uncertainty, him calculating the odds of coming out this alive.

She held out her hand. "You've trusted me with worse."

"That's not true," he said flatly, but extended his hand anyway.

Arabella cut his palm with the same ease, then pressed their hands together. Blood mixed, warm and wet between their skin.

"Say it," she said.

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Say what?"

"Let what's dead borrow what lives."

He stared at her.

"Say it, Riddle."

After a moment, he muttered, "Let what's dead borrow what lives."

And suddenly, it hit them. Arabella gasped and heat flooded through her chest — her heart was beating. All her vampire senses dulled and she was unable to hear Tom's breathing or zoom in with her eyesight. If she tried, she wouldn't have any super speed either. She had only done this once over three hundred years ago, the closest she had ever gotten to being human.

She felt alive, and she hated it.

Tom's breath caught. The heart in his chest stopped beating, his senses sharpened instantly — the smell of blood in those glass bottles in the chests along the wall, the ticking of the clock on the ground floor, the scent of Arabella's shampoo.

He pulled his hand back fast, wiping the blood off his hand with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. But the movement was so fast, he stumbled back with the force. "What did you do to me?"

Arabella hated this so much. "Your soul is my soul," she answered vaguely. Then she started towards the stairs. "Come."