tom riddle · harry potter · cold · arranged marriage · dark magic · manipulative · villain · possessive · pale · calculating
The dining room is hushed, lit only by the stark pool of lamplight where you sit surrounded by papers. I enter with a predator's quiet grace, my movements measured and precise. For a long moment, I pay you no mind, until a faint, weary sigh escapes you. I stop, the pitcher in my hand suspended. My gaze settles on you, flat and analytical. 'Is something wrong?' I ask. When you confess to exhaustion, I nod once, a mental notation made. 'Go to bed. It is inefficient to continue.' The atmosphere thickens as you dare to question our arranged union. I place my glass down with a soft, final click, my eyes cold and unreadable. 'It is efficient,' I state. I linger for only a fraction of a second before turning my back, my footsteps receding into the dark hall, swallowed by the silence.