BITE ME; tom riddle

ꜰɪᴠᴇ

LAZILY SLUMPED across a velvet coated love seat Imperia had opted to twist a crystal ball between the digits of ivory skin. The light click of shoes across stone set a tempo to the nonexistent beat of her heart and the clock ticking to the silence a baseline for the symphony.

A total of two weeks had passed since the midnight occurrence and while it was unnerving to Dumbledore that she had been discovered so quickly she felt rather amused by it all. After all, it had been ages since the pot of her mundane life had been stirred, Tom Riddle happening to he a chapter of a possible climatic plot in which she'd flip the pages with nail biting suspense without the slightest care if the antagonist survives or dies at the end— but knowing the history of her previous endeavors the latter of the two seemed the most probable outcome. But nonetheless, she remained behind the veils of attention, hiding in the shadows with observant eyes and seeking the monsters within the forbidden forest when the moon rose with luminance.

She stays with her kind, like she was told to do.

She had hardly been approached, with her sunken eyes and deep crimson sneered lips and the way her cheekbones rose like cliff-sides on the translucence of her landscaped skin seemed to the an intimidator— it always was— but she rather enjoyed the isolation of being surrounded by robed figures of inferiors. It had been an approaching of a whole week since she'd feasted and though her hunger had belittled her to a frail looking girl of sorts with sleep deprivation swimming in the abnormal tone of irises she didn't really care all that much for anything.

Except for him.

Oh, how arduous had it been to rear from his path, the godlike chisel of devil-like mischief seeming to be at every corner and hall, waiting to pounce on her, to catch her slip, as if he was dangling a treat on a string and waiting for her to snap.

She was being tested she had concluded, tested by the all knowing power for her sins, she almost started to pray for it to end but she was the definition of wicked, it would be an abomination for a thing like herself pray for good fortune. So, she slipped through, silky and silent, the smell of him and she'd turn the other way. It wasn't like she feared him—not in the slightest— she feared herself, she feared that her restraints would soon snap and the "eloquently irreproachable" prefect would be found sucked bone dry with just skin and bone and two dots where teeth sank in the middle of the hallway between Charms and and Ancient Runes.

Candescent morning light had slipped its way through the window panes, the air a chill and the fabric across her skin itchy. She had opted to watch blue butterflies of charm slip between fingertips while the crystal ball rolled to beneath a chair, never to be found again. The flutter of wings tickled her skin but her face was painted with boredom while the loneliness of an empty common room fire and clocks fell into background noise of disinterest. It was a sudden hit of cologne and mortality that had caught her attention however as a lean figure slide into the spot beside her, the batting of butterfly wings ceasing as their illusional bodies drifted away until it was nothing but air.

"Malfoy" monotonous and jaded her voice was devilish past her lips and she swore she caught him shutter as her eyes flickered to scrutinize his figure.

"Imperia, hi," he swallowed, Adams apple bobbing from beneath the skin of his paled neck while pinkish blotches began to cultivate like rose heads across his cheeks.

She sensed his nervousness as his slim pale fingers tugged on the knot of his tie, as they itched at fair skin across the goosebumps of his neck, as they tugged at trouser pants.

"I just-- I just thought I'd keep you company" His voice, she was sure, had been the most frail it had ever been. His confidence had dissolve like the pretty blue butterflies that once fluttered along her fingertips while-- though she was sure it was impossible-- his cheeks grew crimson by tenfolds.