"she was the type of person who'd explain how she was going to stab you in the front before she actually shoved the knife in... and you'd let her.
she'd probably even pass the knife to you so you can shove it in your own chest...and you would."
tom...
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t o m h a d always, in a way, found Evelyn intriguing. If he hadn't, he definitely would have been done with her last year when all of this had started. This question, however, seemed more profound. Like she needed to know if he actually cared for her. Liked her in more than a casual acquaintance way, and Tom had known for a while that he did.
Evelyn had never been like his followers. From the moment he met her, Tom wanted to be around her and learn every secret she may have. In the short year and a half they had known each other, Tom had grown to crave her laughs and revel in her stories.
Tom would have only two entirely uninterrupted weeks with Evelyn. He needed these two weeks to prove to her that he needed her in his company far more than he ever needed Calista and that he would finally surrender if that were what she wanted.
Tom would never admit anything like that out loud to Evelyn, but he was honest in his response to her.
"No, Evelyn, I will never disappear again."
Evelyn's eyes widen as if surprised he even was that honest. It made Tom bold enough to continue.
"I am tired of hurting you because I can't handle my own emotions," Tom said smooth and sure.
Evelyn gave him a warm smile. Tom briefly remembered it from the night after the Horcrux. The way it had comforted him.
Before there was anything else confessed, Evelyn had brought him into her mind, her memory. He knew without asking that this wasn't another teaching lesson or at least not one having to do with legilimancy. This was an offering. A gift of trust from the girl who didn't trust anyone. Tom wondered when the two of them had broken that rule for the other.
He sat in a vast manor room, the floor-to-ceiling windows beside him curtained. There seemed to be very little in the room, aside from a few papers and the large man hovering over a little girl.
The little girl, who Tom knew to be Evelyn, looked no longer than five. She trembled before him, but she seemed to know it was not safe to run. Tom stepped closer to the two of them, curious about what was to happen.
In the child's hands, there was a snow-white dove. It made no noise as if it, too, sensed the danger in the room. The little girl pulled it tight to her chest and pressed her cheek into its downy head.
"Evelyn," The man spoke, a rough accent that sounded nothing like Evelyn's melodic voice, boomed around the room. "I said kill it."
