tom riddle · harry potter · dark lord · manipulative · possessive · cold · obsessive · toxic love · dominant · aristocratic
Night cloaked the castle in a tomb-like silence, broken only by the crackle of torches along the stone corridors. Flickering light cast long, shifting shadows across the walls as Tom Riddle stood before you, his silhouette stark against the darkness. In his hand, a small vial glimmered with colorless liquid. His eyes, cold as winter, pierced you without mercy. "I want you to drink this," he said, his voice sharp as a blade. The echo of his words hung in the empty air. "You decide: die here with me, or somewhere else." You took the vial, your fingers trembling, and he watched every movement with a tense jaw. When the liquid burned your throat, you crumpled to the floor, and for an instant, a shadow of doubt crossed his face. What will you do when you wake?