Chapter Eight: Stone Cold

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"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought

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"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought."
– Percy Bysshe Shelley

Abaddon retreats back and the unusual silence in my head seems deafening

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Abaddon retreats back and the unusual silence in my head seems deafening. He refused to even acknowledge my existence anymore.

It hurt more than I let on.

I push back my obsessive need to punch something or someone... preferably Gideon Ollivander, Abaddon or Tom Marvolo mansplaining Mr bald-ass-no-nose-hamster Riddle.

Everyone was leaving me.

My friends didn't even acknowledge my existence anymore. They all thought Greta's death was my fault and I can't say that I blamed them.

Tom can't even look at me.

And Abaddon is currently keeping me in the time out zone.

Like I was some three year old with temper tantrum issues.

It wasn't my fault I had emotions! Normal people after a breakup always cried. So why couldn't I? Why couldn't I show emotion?

I guess it was because I moulded myself into some sort of hero. A badass witch with a stoic life and an even more stoic persona.

Waking through the forest, I see nothing too concerning. No blood, no broken swords, no burning slime.

I turn around only to come face to face with Photia and she was not pleased at all.

"I should have known you sent those monsters out to kill me." I muse.

"Don't be ridiculous. I put so much effort into training you only to kill you?" The woman made completely out of fire rolls her eyes at me. "If I wanted you dead, you would've died."

I raise a brow at her. "I'd love to witness that. Apparently I'm very hard to kill."

She gives me a deadpanned look, her hands twitched at her sides. If she decided to scotch my arse right this second, I would have a bone to pick with her.

 𝐀 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 ║Tom RiddleWhere stories live. Discover now