Tom did the things he did for a reason. No one is ever born evil. Read on 1/2/dark.
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He watched disdainfully as the sun cowered from his view, sinking below the horizon, slowly enveloping his bedroom in darkness. With a quick swish from his wand, fire rose to dance on the single candlestick, providing a dim light while casting eerie shadows on the bare walls. Shadows that were not natural, but rather seemed to reflect his feelings. Even when he himself could not quite determine his feelings.
How was one supposed to feel after killing their own muggle family? Regret?
Tom Riddle continued to stare out of the orphanage window, fingering the black stone ring on his finger idly. He didn't feel regret, he knew that much. How could he feel regret for the pathetic man who left his mother alone to die. Lowering his arms to his sides, he walked over to his small desk and sat down. He hated spending summer at the orphanage, but he knew he had to this time, if only to find out about his heritage.
He felt tainted. The thought of having that muggles putrid blood running in his veins made him disgusted. Pulling open the draw under his desk, he reached for the lone object it contained. A small black diary.
Tom felt hollow. When he created the horcrux's, he wasn't sure how his body would react to creating more than one. All he knew was that he had to. He had to ensure he would never die, because death scared him more than anything. The thought of not being in control of your mind, not thinking nor seeing, drove him into a sheer state of panic and fear.
He could not have that. He was determined to rid himself of any weakness, and fear was the worst weakness one could have, in Tom's opinion. That and love. Look what love had done for his mother.
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