The Dawn of Darkness || T. Riddle

Chapter 7: Challenge Him

Chapter 7

The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the flickering of black candles casting sinister shadows against the walls. A pool of crimson unfurled across the table like a macabre tapestry, ensnaring Cassandra's lifeless form in its embrace. The glow of her blood was unnatural, illuminated as if moonbeams danced within the viscous liquid, but Estela blamed it on the magic of this strange place.

She was frozen where she stood as she watched the blood slowly make its way to the edge of the desk before it started dripping onto the wooden floor. And the constant sound of each drip, drip, drip would be a sound she would never forget. It was haunting the way the tiny noise seemed to echo around the shack – and the pause between each drip of blood seemed to last a lifetime.

She felt as though she was paralysed and could do nothing more than stare, wide-eyed, at the slumped body.

"Cassandra?" She just about managed to whisper, her vision blurry as she continued to stare at the body. 

The wind's mournful howl through the open windows did little to dispel the scent of blood that hung heavy in the room and the blood now completely covered the table, as though the stream of red was never-ending. And the way it was steadily being soaked up by the pieces of parchment and the seer's own hair was horrid.

What happened? One moment the seer had been prophesising Tom's future, and the next she was dead.

Just like that.

A fresh gust of wind blew its way into the room – strong enough to open the windows that had shut with a bang earlier. Fresh rays of soft moonlight crept their way into the dark room, and Estela looked out of the window to see a crescent moon hanging in the starry night - grinning down at her foxily. Estela was quite glad of the fresh breeze and the scent it brought with it – rain, mud and leaves – as it seemed to clear her senses of the only scent that was hanging around her like a thick cloud of smoke: blood.

Behind her, she heard the door creak open but didn't even turn to see who was there. She couldn't tear her eyes of the seer's body no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much the sight made her want to rid her stomach of all its contents.

Tom stalked past her in a blur of his black cloak, standing tall above the seer's body. The candles in the room flared as if to recoil from his touch, casting elongated shadows that danced on the walls. Leaning forward, his movements were precise, almost tender, as he checked for the faintest sign of life—a mockery of concern where there was none. Estela found herself covering her mouth at the mere thought of being so close to her.

"Is she-"

"Dead." Tom said darkly as he made his way back around the desk. 

His gaze then swept the room, a storm veiled behind calm, as he scanned the papers and trinkets as if searching for something unseen, something beyond the grasp of Estela's understanding. When his eyes found Estela, however, a jolt of unseen energy crackled between them. It was a look that sought to penetrate the very fabric of her being, to unravel her thoughts and fears in a single glance. 

"Did you get it?" His voice, low and laced with urgency, bore into her, a demand that brooked no evasion. "The prophecy, did you get it?"

The prophecy—their reason for being in this strange place—hung over them like an invisible spectre that loomed large in the shadowed corners of the room.

Her attention still set on the dead body, Estela nodded slightly, but her senses came flooding back to her when Riddle stepped closer, the distance between them vanishing. His hands, firm and unyielding, grasped her arms with a gentleness that was contrast to the strength in his palms. "You memorised it, didn't you?" he pressed, his breath a whisper against her skin.