BITE ME; tom riddle

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

WHITE LACES of electricity were growing its vines across the tenebrous night, celestial bodies hidden behind the matted grays of acrylic that painted mounds of shadows over firmament and Imperia sat hidden away behind mountains of books as a golden incandescence deposed its layers of silk over her sublime frame.

Drinking up words like rich wine, one sip two sip three, and it was done and onto the next. She sat lonely— not that she minded— but the coherent sound of deluge was merely the only thing in addition to the concinnity of her fingernails tapping over tabletop and the silence spoke volumes as her fingers butter curled pages and eyes lazily dragged over inked text like all other sublunary— which only made so she wished for her misery to end quicker. Sure, its rather dismal in perspective, but that was her life in a nutshell— dismal, lonesome and bloody fucking boring. It was impractical and may I say disturbing to remain in the dorms and watch students sleep when the notion of somnolence was impossible for herself, so in conclusion, the library would have to do.

A crystal goblet stood tall around the scatter of leather-spine books, golden candlelight striking its indentations with a palatable vista as beams of light danced across the book filled void while painted nails of rouge brushed over its edge with a facile touch as if the glass would scrap her skin— not that it would make her bleed, even if she wanted it to. 

A sickly think liquid sloshed about, silently as trails of red left its prints of devilish crime across the sides all the way to the curves of her lips as she swallowed iron in bliss. Deer is scarce however, and the hunt becomes formidable under the harsh glares of a twilight moon while she snickers when the prey collapses and warmth turns stone cold in seconds while teeth dig in and body falls in elysian ease. But now the stock sits in a single crystal chalice, the symbol of plethoric immortality in which she sips like a drug but all the same needs like a human needs water.

She's thirsty— and it doesn't help when he walks in.

Snapping the space from silent limbo she swims in like clashing seas and crying skies where her purgatory remains a heaven for the devil in which she claims she is, but he walks in with a god stance and skies part to only rain down balls of flames to sear her skin with temptation and hunger and she finds herself clutching to crystal and guzzling down opaque red ooze until the demitasse runs dry and the seas she swims in becomes desert.

He hasn't noticed her, she tells herself as she flips the cover shut and red eyes flicker hastily. Catch him move, catch him float, catch the way his heart beats, catch the way he smells— catch Tom Riddle before he catches you.

"Imperia"

You caught me.

"Tom Riddle"

She speaks his name in whole while eyes stay drawn to a golden book title and tongue clings to the final taste of blood. She could feel herself slipping from the cliff, rocks cracking below feet and plummeting to salty seas below and she's watching ink drip and shores suddenly turn red, red seas are sloshing and its not water but blood— its his blood and she wants to swim in it.

But she can't, she mustn't.

"What are you doing out of bed at this time?" He's still behind her as he inquiries and she's sure he pins her as crass when her mannerism lacks; but she's choosing not to meet his gaze, when he catches burning fires on her irises he'll be sure to be suspicious at the minimum.

But she hasn't an answer and she can feel his impatience on her spine when a shiver runs clean like a knife, slice slice slice— ouch.

But she's cold blooded, candlewick is burning to an end like his impatience—  hurry up and spit it out— don't let the iron in which you drank into intoxication choke you! But she's choking and he's moving and— fuck.