the dark side [tom r.]

4|| Noble Circle.

Life could be confusing at times. There were many occasions where Tom found himself lost, lost and stuck in the realm of time. Although he rarely was unable to deal with the unexpected consequences of his actions, he still faced moments that pushed him to believe in fate.

Tom Riddle strongly believed that there was no such thing as a higher power. There was nothing in the universe that could control him other than himself. He was a king basking on a throne made of the bones of his victims, a throne that was soaked with the blood of his inferiors. And his crown was a jumble of snakeskin and sharp glass, its black tar dripping down his head and seeping from his eyes.

Tom Riddle was a monster.

But then she tangoed in with the grace of a Ballerina. Rosalind mercilessly stomped on his throne and crushed the bones beneath her feet with her return. She sat above like a goddess of some sorts, long legs crossed right atop his seat, honey oozing from her mouth, gossamer tangled in her hair, and brimstone shining in her eyes. Her crown was of wolfsbane and moonstones.

She truly was a goddess.

But goddesses fought monsters, right? They also often won, with their divine beauty and ethereal power — they dismembered their victims and made the remains look like a flower bed.

And perhaps, Rosalind was the monarch that would infiltrate his Noble Circle. Perhaps, she was the deity that he'd believe in, and worship.

If only she hadn't been too damaged by her own demons.

***

Blinking quickly just as she opened her eyes, Rosalind sat up in the rather soft bed with a dull headache. She knew what drinking so recklessly did to her, but after all, she hadn't drunk anything in more than a year now.

She glanced to the window on her right, where it had been opened just enough for a little breeze to make its way in. Taking a deep breath, her eyes scanned the room slowly until they landed on a figure leaning against the doorway.

Gasping loudly with a hand placed on her chest, Rosalind threw one of her many pillows at him, which he caught effortlessly.

"Merlin's beard, Tom! Do you always sneak into people's bedrooms and scare the life out of them?" She muttered while massaging her temples, trying her best to ease the pain that was overpowering her brain.

"Not particularly, no. I felt like had I left you to wake up on your own, you would've hibernated till the end of winter."

She gave him a blank stare, which showed clearly how unamused she was with his satirical mocking early in the morning. "What time is it, anyway?"

He motioned with his head to her right, and only then did she notice the ticking clock by her side that showed quarter till one. The room as a whole was very white. White silk sheets, intricate details in white dressers and wardrobes, even white curtains.

She scrambled to her feet and stood up, fingers running over the dresser just across her bed. Little trinkets laid atop, like an empty picture frame and a bowl of Sherbet Lemons that had probably been untouched for years. She finally stopped a couple of metres away from him, emerald eyes studying him accusingly.

"What are you doing in my room?"

Tom raised his eyebrows in a manner that looked incredulous, his head tilted slightly to the left. "I considered your offer – of joining my order again." Rosalind tried her best to conceal the hopeful gleam in her eyes. "I see no harm in you attending the meeting tonight."