The Dawn of Darkness || T. Riddle

Chapter 18: Look to the Skies

Chapter 18: Look to the Skies

She was allured by him in ways she could not even begin to explain. In the way a moth was drawn to a flame, except that his flame burned darkly – dangerously – and cast shadows of menace and mystery against the light. And she would always find herself flying blindly towards it, no matter how hard she tried to clasp her wings.

Tom moved away from her, and as he did her head felt lighter, her chest slacker, and she was glad she was no longer the centre of his attention at this moment. Because no matter how much it gave her an ecstatic rush of emotions, it was a very bad place to be.

She swallowed hard as the world around her became clear once more, and she focused on the moonlit grass through the window over Tom's shoulder.

Gradually, her skin cooled. But the ghosts of Tom's fingers running their way down her throat – over her collarbone – remained. Like phantom raindrops falling softly against her skin and causing every muscle in her body to compress and loosen at the same time.

He poured himself another glass of wine and the sound of the liquid slushing against the goblet filled the silence that surrounded them.

She glanced at him briefly, cautious as she did so, as though focusing on him for too long would make each and every one of her senses go into overdrive again.

And she couldn't handle it.

"I'm going to leave." She said, moving to get up.

"Stay." Was all that Tom said, but he didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed upon the goblet in his hand as he traced the edge with his finger.

"Why?" she shot at him. "So you can torment me with more memories of our past?"

He stayed silent, and it was as though he was refusing to meet her gaze as his eyes still lingered on the goblet. But then a few seconds later he put it down and exhaled, and when he spoke his voice was tired and lacking any of the charm it held earlier.

"Because it's been a long day and for once, just once, I want to talk to someone who doesn't tremble at my every word."

Estela watched him lean his head backwards against the sofa as though he was physically drained. And again the thought of everything he'd lost tonight hit her, and it hit her how devastated he must be feeling.

But in all honesty she was glad the Gathering had been a failure. It meant that Tom was one step further away from reaching his goal. It meant he was no nearer to establishing his Order.

Estela thought of what to say but words failed to reach her and so she just looked at him – warily – as though staring too long would ignite something terrible within her. He simply sat there, his head tilted backwards against the sofa, his arms splayed by his side. And then he raised his head and met her gaze. And it caught her off guard completely.

And those cold, judgmental eyes tore her apart and her breathing quickened once more. It was as though he was looking into her mind, reading and extracting her every thought, even though the barriers around her mind were up and as unassailable as ever. And she may have been imagining it, she may have been paranoid, but it looked as though something like suspicion and distrust slowly crept its way onto Tom's face.

"I know you're mad about the gathering. But I tried to succeed, I really did." She murmured. "This isn't what I wanted."

Tom's jaw compressed as though what he had been thinking had nothing to do with the words that just came out of her mouth.

"Then what do you want?" he asked her, his voice soft but deep. She blinked. "What do you really want? Tell me."

She did not answer, and began reaching down to gulp more wine, when he stopped her.