Chapter 2: Split Personality
I feel it go deeper, deeper inside Crossing my heart, hopping to die Wish at last to die in peace Forget the bullshit at very least
I was born in France, albeit I admit my mother was Irish. Supposedly my biological grandmother was Egyptian, but my father bore the name Evans. I'm not sure where my origins truly lie. From the time I was eleven I attended boarding school. By then I didn't matter in my nationality. All that mattered was my blood, and the fact that it was impure. And that was a terrible misfortune.
When I was fifteen I lost my virginity, and with that I lost my reputation. The Slytherin who took it told me later it was all a joke. Apparently some guy had liked me pure of heart. The boy's Slytherin enemy took my purity for a laugh. The joke wasn't lost on me.
I fell into the cruelty of the world after that. I was miserable to those who asked and I drank cheap lemonade that was tainted with a faint metallic feel all the time. I knew distantly that I was being stupid, that this wasn't the end of the world. But that fateful day on which I was so sure Macnair loved me shattered my soul and set destiny into motion.
Now I find myself in this house of glass. Alone.
I know deep inside my bones that I could be happy out there. I'd be happy out in the world.
A sharp tapping wrought its evil on my door. Of course that would be my master. I sighed as I got up off my bed. I really didn't mind leaving the mattress; it was cold, and hard, and swallowed me inside it. A series of knocks ensued and then a unnecessarily loud growl of frustration followed.
"I'm fucking coming." I yelled through the door. "Alright?"
The door opened with a crash and through the broken glass stepped Lord Voldemort in all his glory. His eyes were a swirling scarlet. They were hate-filled eyes. I knew this just as well as he. Before I could take in more than his night's black cloak he had passed his palm swiftly across his cheek.
I knew a red handprint was quickly forming on my cheek.
"Bow to your Dark Lord." He ordered me and I shook my head defiantly. "Bow, Miss Evans, and perhaps I'll spare your life."
I laughed hollowly. I couldn't care less if I died at his hand. At least I'd then be free of him. Besides, I knew my life was far too valued to be ended. My death was not in Voldemort's interest. A high price was set on my head and if Voldemort killed me, his known whore, no other would ever take my place. I was far too powerful to allow that.
"I shan't bow to you, scum. I shan't bow to any but the god who gives me absolution." I closed my eyes at the mere thought. My sins bore to heavy a weight on me. Thoughts of love and happy life ravaged the back of my eyelids. When I finally did open my eyes I saw that the shape of the man before me had changed. There was now a noble figure in the velvet cloak. He was handsome with black eyes, deceiving his passions, and a look of wisdom that was much to old to suit his young face.
"I'm sorry, my dear, for that. Malfoy's young protégée angered me."
I stared at him with a heavy heart. Despite myself I encircled him with my arms. "Do you mean Snape, Tom? You're giving him the mark? But you must know he hates me!"
"Do not insult my intelligence, Miss Evans. I know it was *he* that *you* hate."
"Tom, I implore you, leave my rooms at once."
The man cackled in a way that deeply did not suit him. "Then I will leave. But you have no door."
"That's a dirty trick, but you're wrong." I pointed my wand fixedly at the door. "*Reparo. *"
"I think I'm to stay the night tonight, love."
My eyes opened wide. Tom Riddle was a good man in appearance and a good man in life, but he had a duo personality. On one side he was Tom, a clever man, born to lead by the law. On the other, her was a lord of darkness. And Tom never did ultimately prevail in a battle of wits between the two. Tom was always good to me, but he was lustful, and Voldemort always conquered in the darkness of the night when lovers meet.
"Tom," I began, but he would have none of his and he silenced me with a prodding kiss I could not refuse.
I feel it go deeper, deeper inside Crossing my heart, hopping to die Wish at last to die in peace Forget the bullshit at very least
I was born in France, albeit I admit my mother was Irish. Supposedly my biological grandmother was Egyptian, but my father bore the name Evans. I'm not sure where my origins truly lie. From the time I was eleven I attended boarding school. By then I didn't matter in my nationality. All that mattered was my blood, and the fact that it was impure. And that was a terrible misfortune.
When I was fifteen I lost my virginity, and with that I lost my reputation. The Slytherin who took it told me later it was all a joke. Apparently some guy had liked me pure of heart. The boy's Slytherin enemy took my purity for a laugh. The joke wasn't lost on me.
I fell into the cruelty of the world after that. I was miserable to those who asked and I drank cheap lemonade that was tainted with a faint metallic feel all the time. I knew distantly that I was being stupid, that this wasn't the end of the world. But that fateful day on which I was so sure Macnair loved me shattered my soul and set destiny into motion.
Now I find myself in this house of glass. Alone.
I know deep inside my bones that I could be happy out there. I'd be happy out in the world.
A sharp tapping wrought its evil on my door. Of course that would be my master. I sighed as I got up off my bed. I really didn't mind leaving the mattress; it was cold, and hard, and swallowed me inside it. A series of knocks ensued and then a unnecessarily loud growl of frustration followed.
"I'm fucking coming." I yelled through the door. "Alright?"
The door opened with a crash and through the broken glass stepped Lord Voldemort in all his glory. His eyes were a swirling scarlet. They were hate-filled eyes. I knew this just as well as he. Before I could take in more than his night's black cloak he had passed his palm swiftly across his cheek.
I knew a red handprint was quickly forming on my cheek.
"Bow to your Dark Lord." He ordered me and I shook my head defiantly. "Bow, Miss Evans, and perhaps I'll spare your life."
I laughed hollowly. I couldn't care less if I died at his hand. At least I'd then be free of him. Besides, I knew my life was far too valued to be ended. My death was not in Voldemort's interest. A high price was set on my head and if Voldemort killed me, his known whore, no other would ever take my place. I was far too powerful to allow that.
"I shan't bow to you, scum. I shan't bow to any but the god who gives me absolution." I closed my eyes at the mere thought. My sins bore to heavy a weight on me. Thoughts of love and happy life ravaged the back of my eyelids. When I finally did open my eyes I saw that the shape of the man before me had changed. There was now a noble figure in the velvet cloak. He was handsome with black eyes, deceiving his passions, and a look of wisdom that was much to old to suit his young face.
"I'm sorry, my dear, for that. Malfoy's young protégée angered me."
I stared at him with a heavy heart. Despite myself I encircled him with my arms. "Do you mean Snape, Tom? You're giving him the mark? But you must know he hates me!"
"Do not insult my intelligence, Miss Evans. I know it was *he* that *you* hate."
"Tom, I implore you, leave my rooms at once."
The man cackled in a way that deeply did not suit him. "Then I will leave. But you have no door."
"That's a dirty trick, but you're wrong." I pointed my wand fixedly at the door. "*Reparo. *"
"I think I'm to stay the night tonight, love."
My eyes opened wide. Tom Riddle was a good man in appearance and a good man in life, but he had a duo personality. On one side he was Tom, a clever man, born to lead by the law. On the other, her was a lord of darkness. And Tom never did ultimately prevail in a battle of wits between the two. Tom was always good to me, but he was lustful, and Voldemort always conquered in the darkness of the night when lovers meet.
"Tom," I began, but he would have none of his and he silenced me with a prodding kiss I could not refuse.