Into the shadowy room where the fire leapt and twirled
Tom Riddle stared at the swirling liquid brown in his porcelain cup. Earl Grey was such a difficult tea to prepare correctly. The process was most painstaking, if one wanted the perfect cup. Tom constantly strove for perfection, thus he wanted the perfect cup. He placed the loose leaves inside the pewter kettle, which he hung over the common room's fire. After brewing for a matter of minutes, he poured the contents of the kettle into his azure wedge wood cup. He poured milk into his tea with bated breath: a drop too much, and the tea lost all flavor and would become a thoroughly milky substance. A relieved sigh escaped his perfect lips as the tea turned a light shade of brown— the milk had been poured to perfection. A lump of sugar went into the tea. He stirred the liquid with a silver spoon, and sat back to enjoy his steaming drink.
Tom looked at his watch. It was exactly five o'clock. He smirked again as he marveled at his remarkably perfect timing. He was becoming more godlike by the hour.
Placing the second azure cup on the table beside the fire, he poured the remaining tea into it. Milk was added with a splash, no steady hand to guide the pitcher. Tom Riddle was well aware of his carelessness. He ignored the sugar, preferring to add his own syrup. The thick, clear liquid was gorgeous to the taste, rendering the tongue beautifully bewitched. The dark haired boy stirred the tea with a silver spoon, as he sat back in the emerald upholstered chair. He waited.
One minute later, the portrait hole swung open. A slim blonde girl glided into the room. Her wide blue eyes glanced around the room, a smile forming on her cherubic lips as she spied Tom. He walked up to her, placing the wedge wood cup in her white hands, he led her up to her dormitory (Tom had long since learned of ways into the girl's private rooms).
The girl lay on her four poster bed. Tom stroked her hair, gently playing with its ringlets. She finished the tea, and licked her lips, delighting at the tea's sweetness. She gazed at Tom with dreamy eyes, murmuring sweet nothings as she drifted off to sleep. She was a living china doll in her repose. Tom kissed her smooth forehead, and drew the green curtains shut.
The Lord had struck again.
Author's note: Killing gives Tom a sense of calm.
Tom was calm when walking to class. The basililisk is a key instrument in his reign of horror. The syrup was actually poison.
Thus, Tom killed twice.
Oh, how fascinatingly sadistic is he.
Much Love,
Your eternal Bella.