Chapter: Baffled Souls
Lost in a maze that never ends Forgot the map that shows the bends Crossing my heart, hopping to die Slicing my fingers, slashing my thighs
Tom turned his back towards me the next morning as I dressed in my customary long, black robe. He looked so innocent lying there, almost the same as a boy I think, dare I say it, I may have loved. His black hair was so unruly. I might have loved him in the mornings for that.
I wish I could say he turned away out of respect and kindness for me, as a woman, but there was no room for kindness in his heart of ice. Yet ice can be melted, and I knew even then that his transformation into the Dark Lord Voldemort had yet to conclude. However, at the present I knew that there was no love in the man's heart.
It angered me that Tom Riddle, a man that in his conquer of me had claimed he cared for me, could ever be so cruel in his pseudo- respectful ways. To me, I thought it would be proper between a man and a woman who had wild relationships together, like Tom and myself, to ignore nudity, possibly even embrace it.
He knew not that I saw through his carefully constructed mask of trickery. He knew not that I did not trust in his lies. He knew not that my love for him was false. Tom Riddle did not know a lot of things.
I realized then that I hated him at that moment. I hated him for everything he had ever done, and everything he would ever do, and I was unsure of why. In spite of myself, I had a strong urge to slap the man with black hair and black, lusting eyes. Instead I curled my hands into tight fists.
He glanced back at me.
"Finish what you started," he said in a low, throaty whisper. It was not a request.
Only then did I realize how clearly I was betraying my feelings through the blood that was slowly rolling past my crimson nails.
I stood with my robe falling off my shoulders unclasped, naked as a babe. Once again I began to dress.
"Excuse me, master," I whispered with a small bow and took my leave.
There was only one place I could take refuge from Voldemort within his stone halls. It was a small library that was often used for meetings that were held between Tom and his acquaintances, often his mistresses. That was supposed to be a secret, I knew.
The library, in truth, was much more of a storeroom for dangerous spell books and such that Voldemort had mastered many years before. It was dark and a little dusty, but it was the perfect place for a single person to sit, read and transfigure tea into cappuccinos or, more often than not, hard lemonade. At the moment I was reading the Muggle book *The Three Musketeers*, and I suppose Tom would be more than just a tad cross if he knew I was reading "dirty" literature. He would be livid to know that I had brought Muggle paraphernalia into his house. But he wasn't to know.
Today, however, I didn't read I just sat. I was alarmed at Tom's subtle behavior. Normally he would wake me far to early just to ravage me twice more before he set off to do whatever he did during the day, plot his attacks I suppose. I wasn't completely despondent in the morning's change of schedule. In fact, I might have said I was pleased. However, pleasure of any kind must end.
That's how it was for me; all or nothing.
Mindlessly, I drew a dagger from a shelf near by, lifting my sleeve, then lightly tracing a path down my arm. A straight line of scarlet swiftly appeared against my alabaster skin. I suppose this action was more out of habit than anything else.
A small tear began to make its way down my cheek, and I realized it wasn't for the pain at all. I lifted my hand to check that it was real, and I immediately knew that I was crying because I had no idea what was going on.
Everything I knew, everything, it wasn't there. I was alone in my little room, and that was not where I was meant to be.
Someone once told me that life can last a very long time, and that what we do with it is our choice to make, but in the end it shan't matter. In the end we'll be born again as humans. And human are sinners by nature. Of course I don't believe in reincarnation. I don't believe in anything anymore.
There really wasn't much to life. You sit, and you think, and sometimes you take action. But that wasn't what I wanted to be. That was not where I wanted to be in my life.
Then a thought struck me. Where was I?
I dropped the knife and screamed.
I was lost.
A/N: I just realized that I posted this story as PG, and it's defiantly not gonna be PG. No way in hell could I get this story to be PG. Even if I wanted to. Sorry about that. Thank you to the person who reviewed (sorry for not mentioning you're name, but I'm to lazy to go check to see what it is.) It may take awhile to get the next chapter up. Maybe not. It shouldn't take longer than a week and a half, though. Please review. I'll love anyone that reviews and I'll be their best friend forever and ever and ever and ever. Wait, that doesn't seem like a very good prospect, does it?
Later Days,
Hunter
P.S. (I feel like I'm writing a letter.) This story is based on the poem that a is supposed to appear by stanza at the top of every chapter. I don't know how to get it to appear in poetry format. If you can help, please email me at the address shown in my profile.
Thanks,
Hunter
Lost in a maze that never ends Forgot the map that shows the bends Crossing my heart, hopping to die Slicing my fingers, slashing my thighs
Tom turned his back towards me the next morning as I dressed in my customary long, black robe. He looked so innocent lying there, almost the same as a boy I think, dare I say it, I may have loved. His black hair was so unruly. I might have loved him in the mornings for that.
I wish I could say he turned away out of respect and kindness for me, as a woman, but there was no room for kindness in his heart of ice. Yet ice can be melted, and I knew even then that his transformation into the Dark Lord Voldemort had yet to conclude. However, at the present I knew that there was no love in the man's heart.
It angered me that Tom Riddle, a man that in his conquer of me had claimed he cared for me, could ever be so cruel in his pseudo- respectful ways. To me, I thought it would be proper between a man and a woman who had wild relationships together, like Tom and myself, to ignore nudity, possibly even embrace it.
He knew not that I saw through his carefully constructed mask of trickery. He knew not that I did not trust in his lies. He knew not that my love for him was false. Tom Riddle did not know a lot of things.
I realized then that I hated him at that moment. I hated him for everything he had ever done, and everything he would ever do, and I was unsure of why. In spite of myself, I had a strong urge to slap the man with black hair and black, lusting eyes. Instead I curled my hands into tight fists.
He glanced back at me.
"Finish what you started," he said in a low, throaty whisper. It was not a request.
Only then did I realize how clearly I was betraying my feelings through the blood that was slowly rolling past my crimson nails.
I stood with my robe falling off my shoulders unclasped, naked as a babe. Once again I began to dress.
"Excuse me, master," I whispered with a small bow and took my leave.
There was only one place I could take refuge from Voldemort within his stone halls. It was a small library that was often used for meetings that were held between Tom and his acquaintances, often his mistresses. That was supposed to be a secret, I knew.
The library, in truth, was much more of a storeroom for dangerous spell books and such that Voldemort had mastered many years before. It was dark and a little dusty, but it was the perfect place for a single person to sit, read and transfigure tea into cappuccinos or, more often than not, hard lemonade. At the moment I was reading the Muggle book *The Three Musketeers*, and I suppose Tom would be more than just a tad cross if he knew I was reading "dirty" literature. He would be livid to know that I had brought Muggle paraphernalia into his house. But he wasn't to know.
Today, however, I didn't read I just sat. I was alarmed at Tom's subtle behavior. Normally he would wake me far to early just to ravage me twice more before he set off to do whatever he did during the day, plot his attacks I suppose. I wasn't completely despondent in the morning's change of schedule. In fact, I might have said I was pleased. However, pleasure of any kind must end.
That's how it was for me; all or nothing.
Mindlessly, I drew a dagger from a shelf near by, lifting my sleeve, then lightly tracing a path down my arm. A straight line of scarlet swiftly appeared against my alabaster skin. I suppose this action was more out of habit than anything else.
A small tear began to make its way down my cheek, and I realized it wasn't for the pain at all. I lifted my hand to check that it was real, and I immediately knew that I was crying because I had no idea what was going on.
Everything I knew, everything, it wasn't there. I was alone in my little room, and that was not where I was meant to be.
Someone once told me that life can last a very long time, and that what we do with it is our choice to make, but in the end it shan't matter. In the end we'll be born again as humans. And human are sinners by nature. Of course I don't believe in reincarnation. I don't believe in anything anymore.
There really wasn't much to life. You sit, and you think, and sometimes you take action. But that wasn't what I wanted to be. That was not where I wanted to be in my life.
Then a thought struck me. Where was I?
I dropped the knife and screamed.
I was lost.
A/N: I just realized that I posted this story as PG, and it's defiantly not gonna be PG. No way in hell could I get this story to be PG. Even if I wanted to. Sorry about that. Thank you to the person who reviewed (sorry for not mentioning you're name, but I'm to lazy to go check to see what it is.) It may take awhile to get the next chapter up. Maybe not. It shouldn't take longer than a week and a half, though. Please review. I'll love anyone that reviews and I'll be their best friend forever and ever and ever and ever. Wait, that doesn't seem like a very good prospect, does it?
Later Days,
Hunter
P.S. (I feel like I'm writing a letter.) This story is based on the poem that a is supposed to appear by stanza at the top of every chapter. I don't know how to get it to appear in poetry format. If you can help, please email me at the address shown in my profile.
Thanks,
Hunter