the dark side [tom r.]

5|| Inferno.

Tom watched her as tears slid across her cheeks, her lips swollen and her face red. Rosalind told him everything, and she realised just how much she missed having someone to talk to.

She hadn't told anyone about this before, the memory haunted her with phantoms of shame. And it was so mind blowing, how she was able to talk to him about it like nothing had changed between them, like they hadn't been separated for five years.

Tom didn't touch her. He didn't hug her or cry with her. He just listened, and that was what she needed. His sharp eyes never left hers, but she had to break the contact when the tears started falling.

She somehow felt pathetic, deep deep down, telling him about something that was so degrading. How'd he look at her after hearing the story? Would he see her as someone filthy? The thought alone tore through her heart.

They were now sitting in silence, Tom staring off into the distance while she looked at him.

Was it possible to miss someone when they were sat right in front of you?

"Where are you going?" She hiccuped, staring up at him as he walked towards the door.

"I'm going to do what has to be done."

***
[trigger warning: mentions of sexual assault]

Taking slow, silent footsteps across the street, Tom Riddle tucked his hands in his pockets as he followed his next victim. A roach that deserved to be crushed.

The Dark Lord moved with the slickness of a snake that glided soundlessly in the dark, baring its fangs at the
damned prey. He studied his steps before lunging, attacking mercilessly with poison tattooed on his face. Riddle was truly phenomenal.

After knowing Rosalind's story, revenge was the only thing on his mind. It pumped in his blood like scalding metal, threatening to destroy everything in reach. He would never let anyone get away with this. He'd never let anyone hurt her.

The Parisian street was dark and almost empty, except for the man Tom was following and another old lady limping slowly towards her house, murmuring nonsense to herself.

Tom watched as his target entered one of the buildings, singing in a foreign language that the dark lord unfortunately did not understand – Bulgarian.

The song was off-tune, sentences left incomplete and ending in meaningless mumbles. A light in the hallway flickered, and the only thing heard was the quarrelling of a couple behind one of the many closed doors.

Vandalov could've sworn someone was following him, but when he turned around, he saw nothing.

Zhelyazko stepped into his house, which was submerged in darkness and with a wave of his wand the lights flickered on. When he saw the dark figure seated in his sofa, he took a step back.

"W-what. . Who are you?"

Tom spread his arms out across the back of the couch, ankles crossed and a frown visible on his face. For the first time in so long, he was so angry that fury was radiating off of him.

"Think it through, Vandalov. Does my face look familiar to you?"

"You're Rosalind's boyfriend."

"Boyfriend? We're not seventeen anymore. But yes, you're close."

"W-why are you here? What do you want from me?"

Tom chuckled, a sound that was terrifying, dangerous. It was a quiet melody that had the power of thunder.