• fifty eight

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you are
the series of mistakes
that had to happen
for you
to find your you

you arethe series of mistakes that had to happenfor youto find your you

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ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Acceptance of the truth or existence of something.

The Favreau family writhed in pain, their screams an excruciating jab on the chest. This was what she had asked for, this was the consequence of those two words that had slipped from her lips and created an imposing echo in the room. Poisonous words that contrasted with the serene silence. "Kill her." She said, loud and clear, for her brother to hear. She knew there was only one outcome, knew that her command was going to be obeyed. Yet not once did she try to backtrack, to mend her actions, to stop Tom before it was too late.

A bloodshed ensued. A macabre and gruesome death met the family who had no choice but to succumb to the inhumane methods used. Nagini slid through the cold wooden floors, looking directly at her eyes with devotion, with gratitude for the meal she had provided. Even the Death Eaters themselves had to look away. The group of people who mercilessly killed, creators of an indescribable amount of agony for innocent victims, were looking at her with a look of sheer terror reflected in their eyes.

It was time to come to terms with that. With the blood dripping from her hands. How could she pride herself on being a good person, an opposite of her brother, when she had blood stains whereas many remained squeaky clean. She walked amongst them, pretending to be one of them, pretending to be just another face in the crowd, pretending her boyfriend had turned her into a better person.

She had made love to her man. She had murdered a family.

Two sides to a coin. If you want to try a quick game of heads and tails, you'll potentially be playing a seemingly less intense version of Russian roulette. You get heads, you become her friend, get on her good side, fall for her facade, live a life pretending tails can't be that bad. You get tails, and she's Lord Voldemort's little sister, you can tell by her composure, by that coldness of her soul that causes fear to overtake ones heart and shivers to run down even the bravest's spine.

Tom Riddle bathed in an ocean of blood. Alexis Riddle approached him, taking a few steps in, testing the waters.

Tom gulped down the remaining whiskey on his now empty glass. His eyes lost in a daze, lips in a hard line that would occasionally move with a grimace. His mind set on the image of his sister, he could see her, feel her, trembling in her bed, tears running down the side of her face and disappearing in the pillows, the ghost of Merope speaking to her with yet another passive aggressive reprimanding comment.

He tossed the glass in the direction of the wall, turning it into thousands of sharp pieces. The distressed look in Alexis' eyes flashing through his mind once more before deciding it was enough. He stopped focusing, allowing his mind to relax, no longer violating her head. He knew she was probably paralysed with fear on that exact same instant, wondering what on earth was happening to her. He could feel her soul unnerving, her sanity faltering, her walls coming undone.

Little Riddle | James PotterWhere stories live. Discover now