─── ❀ ───
Tom Riddle sat, ruminating about the woman in front of him, but not the reason you would think.
His mind was a warehouse of labored deception, for each lie told was smelt by the hapless hands of his slain victims—staining every corner a deep shade of vermilion until all he knew was the distinct odor of hot metal. The laborers would carve, smelt, stitch, and polish his iniquitous mind, piling up the tools in gold buckets for him to abuse as he pleased.
As a young boy, he never felt one with the children around. Poor Tom, always the black sheep of the herd. The other kids at the orphanage he had, unfortunately, grown up in teased him — pushing him further away from the reality he was already disconnected from.
He found no pleasure in generosity, oh he was a selfish man, a selfish man indeed. A thought of compassion had never grazed his mind in the twenty-one years that he had been alive, for it seemed to be absent of any warm feeling besides a crave for bloodshed — tepid, metallic, red.
It had been quite a long time since his last murder: forty-eight days, to be exact. Tom would have been a liar if he said he didn't think about murdering Gaia Arbore right there in then in the street — not that he would mind being called such. The young man found her existence to be just as repulsive as she was, and he figured it would have been a blessing to rid the Earth of her completely.
So, as she sat in front of him in that quaint little bar, he devised a faultless plan to make Gaia Arbore regret asking him to accompany her for a drink. Just by how she held herself, Tom knew the type of girl she was: innocent, compassionate, generous, hopeful. She was the epitome of angelic beauty — both inside and out — and he wondered what it would be like to watch her celestial blood pool silver at his feet for him to consume.
Tom Riddle was a selfish man.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was a stake in his mind, crucifying him back to reality where she sat in perfect condition — alluring, joyful, alive. A combination he despised, for they were dangerous if not handled with absolute care.
The polished oak wood that adorned the walls reflected mocking faces through each carved detail. They laughed, cried, and pleaded, all within the same sepia lines of the timber. His jaw clenched slightly at the mockery in front of him, resisting the urge to blast the oak walls with a reducto curse.
The sound of whistling milk frothers resonated through the bar, piercing through eardrums in a shrill ring similar to a dissonant flute. Smoke billowed through caffeine-laced air, glinting like fresh nectar as it reached the flickering, golden ceiling lights that hung from metal chains like wisteria.
'Turn that blasted thing off.'
"So, Tom Riddle, tell me why you are here in, Roma," Gaia asked the handsome young man in front of her, blowing on the piping hot espresso that she held by her fingertips.
This question had snapped Tom out of his intrusive thoughts, slaying the fantasies of him slitting her precious throat — he made a note to finish that one later.
The young man knew precisely why he was here; to create his forth horcrux, of course. But he wasn't going to tell this muggle that, for even the most sinful beings had lines they would not dare to cross. For demons, it may be a river of holy water. For angels, the tormented mountains of hell. Tom Riddle's was exposing his capability to perform extraordinary magic.
"I am here like every other tourist; to experience Italian culture and try something new," Tom replied, taking a sip of ice-cold water from a glass. The crisp sensation bit at the walls of his throat, sending a shiver down his spine.
Through Gaia's rambling about the activities he could take part in, he stole a glance at the other women in the bar. As predicted, many observed him over the rims of their porcelain cups that were stained scarlet at the lip. Their admiring eyes scanned him over as if he were a rare piece of artwork, sending him a sensuous smirk that reached their ogling eyes.
"Tell me about yourself," the brunette insisted in an attempt to pull his attention back to her.
Tom quickly twisted his head to face her, studying her features intently while he brewed an answer. Her skin was evenly tanned and littered with blemishes here and there that bloomed like rosebuds. He could see the depths of her pupils as they adjusted to the dim light of the bar — an abyss of joy and light rather than the onyx and sorrow that typically resided in the endless sea of darkness. A disk of jade encompassed her pupils, spilling chartreuse liqueur and olive in a fusion of striking greens — a halo of greenwood bordering the edges.
The young man couldn't lie, she was quite pretty.
"I grew up in Britain, attended a boarding school in Scotland, and now I am currently attending Edinburgh University," Tom answered calmly, spinning the gold ring around his finger that held an obsidian stone, "How about you?"
Gaia cleared her throat, for she hadn't thought of what she was going to do. The girl had found contentment in taking care of the indigent, always looking forward to making conversation with anyone who seemed like they needed it. "Well, I enjoy helping people. I haven't thought of what I wanted to do in life, to be quite honest. But," she hesitated, collecting her thoughts, "I have always wanted to be part of something bigger, you know?"
Tom nodded his head slightly in understanding, "Yes, I understand where you are coming from. I, too, want to be part of something bigger, something that will help people." The lies were like narcotics dissolving against his tongue, addictive to the point of no return.
"Really? What do you plan on pursuing?"
The wizard tapped his finger against his chin lightly, "Purifying tainted waters."
"So, you want to help rid the oceans of pollution?" Gaia asked the man in front of her, eyes brightening at his statement. She found his care for ocean life to be incredibly attractive, intriguing her even more.
"You could say that, yes."
Tom didn't have any plans on "purifying tainted waters." The mere idea of aiding the world gave him the same feeling of rotted nails hammering into his ribcage. Tom cared for no one else in this world besides himself, and that was how it was forever going to be. In fact, he cared so little about human life that he was willing to slaughter an entire blood race if it meant he could gain absolute sovereignty.
"Where are you staying?" The sound of Gaia's feathery voice drew his attention back to her, where she looked at him with questioning eyes — her eyebrows furrowed. Even though he did not like her, he could admit that her voice was comforting. It reminded him of the euphonious beat of a seraph's wings, though he would never get the chance to hear their melodies vibrate through his nefarious ears; the price of a sinner is such.
Tom cleared his throat, lifting his fist to cover his mouth. There was nothing he hated more than presenting himself as inferior to anyone, including women. Tom Riddle would rather die than be pitied by a woman for his wealth, or lack thereof. His pride was his suit of armor, forged with vanity in the pyre of the doomed fools who dared cross him — mercy was the forgiveness of a miscreant, and Tom Riddle was everything but forgiving.
"I have not exactly figured it out yet," Tom waited for her reaction, observing her features change due to her thoughts. He felt his chest tighten at his words, for he thought he looked utterly pathetic at that moment: a man with no place to go but away.
"Well, I know a albergo molto bello in the city." She proposed, meeting his eyes again and noticing how they were the same shade of brown as the rich caffè that swirled in her chipped porcelain cup. Gaia admired them, unbeknownst to Tom. She was a firm believer in the term, "eyes are the window to the soul."
But, bambina, he has four.
And by the looks of it, his soul seemed to be quite marvelous (malevolent) — who could tell the difference anyway? The longer she stared, the tighter she was bound to him by the barbed coils of his pupils, allowing its darkness to pull her in slowly but surely. But slowly was all Tom Riddle needed.
"I do not have the money for one," Tom's right eye twitched slightly at his confession, and he found himself gripping the edge of his chair a bit tighter than he typically would until his knuckles bruised white.
"Oh..." Gaia paused, tilting her head down to stare at her cup of caffè which sat on the table half full in front of her. Staring at her marbled reflection, she contemplated her choices between the ripples of umber. The leading thought seemed like the worst idea known to mankind, for she had just met Tom Riddle. But, the other option seemed selfish to her — Gaia Arbore was everything but selfish.
"Would you, by any chance," Pause, "want to stay at my appartamento for the time being? Until you can sort out your situation, of course." Gaia blurted out, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. She gripped the sapphire ring on her finger that her mamma had given her, pleading out to her in hopes she would receive a sign that she made the right decision.
Tom Riddle was indeed stunned. How had the idea of sharing a house with the girl never crossed his mind? It was a foolproof plan, living in the same residence as his victim.
"Are you sure, I would not want to intrude," Tom asked, though he prayed (for once) that she would not take his concern with earnest.
"You would not be intruding if I willingly allowed you in." Was it too late to take it back?
"You are really sure about this?"
No, she was not.
"As sure as I will ever be, Tom."
Maybe she was a liar too.
"How can I ever repay you?" Tom queried, though he knew this agreement would never be repaid on his behalf, for Tom Riddle never balanced the scales of equity to his opponent's favor.
"You do not have to."
Gaia Arbore was a generous woman, maybe too generous for her own good.
"You are very kind, Gaia. Thank you."
And then he smiled at her — a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It pulled at his muscles until his cheekbones ached with duplicity, and the hollows of his ivory cracked at the foreign expression.
However, his mask fell right into place against his pale flesh, sewing itself to the tissues of his face. The thread slithered in through the depths of his chipped grin by a needle that had mastered the art of suturing fallacies. It was made for him — no, it was him.
Carefully he lifted his cup of caffè to his lips that were still tainted with the falsity of his sculpted appreciation. The hot coffee burned at the lining of his stomach, blistering him with aching pleasure. It seemed to have been the only sensation of warmth that Tom had felt in a while, for nothing in this world could turn the wintry of his soul(s) to ardent flames.
But while Gaia sat in her chair across from Tom, all she could feel was glacial. For a girl who was conceived from holy fire, sunbeams, and the incandescence of stars, Gaia Arbore had never felt colder. Tragically for her, we can never recognize foreign threats until they breach our territory and slaughter our troops, leaving nothing but saccharine poppies to scatter the field in the place of what was.
So, she too picked up her chipped porcelain cup, draining it to the bottom to reveal a painted letter "S" at the base, written in viridian. Though, by the time she finished her caffè, it had been blown cold, applying no heat to the icebergs in her gut.
"Shall we go?" Tom asked as he dragged his chair back to stand up, holding out his arm for her to grab onto.
Gaia took in a deep breath, "We shall."
Oh, Gaia, what have you done?
───────
A/N: This chapter was definitely something. Since this was Tom's pov for most of the time, the writing is a bit "darker". It's going to be like this (light + dark) throughout the entire story. I love you all!!