K I N G [Tom Riddle]

P R E F A C E

There was once a little boy who could make bad things happens to those who did him wrong. He would torment and grin as they suffered through his punishment. Their strife and pain brought him to become feared at his orphanage. He was one of a kind. And they hated him for it. But he reveled in there cowardice. In their poorly masked fear of him. But he was just a little boy who knew not of the terror he brought. 

There was once a little boy that entered the halls of a school for witches and wizards. He was placed into a house where he left his old identity behind. He became the perfect student with high marks and a polite attitude. The professors swooned over him, the girls fell at his feet. He was a tall elegant facade that was played by the schools greatest actor. And none where able to see the dark road he was soon to take. But he was just a little boy who tried to fit in. 

There was once a little boy that killed his own kin. Who ravaged over the father that never cared for him. The father that left him to the dead. And so he fought, he found his revenge as he massacred the old man and his family. And at the end he laughed. He cried out in joy of the filth that tainted what he found was royal blood. He was a diamond in the rough and now he had come to take his throne. So he began his conquest. But he was just a little boy who didn't understand that the world was a cruel and unfair. 

There was once a little boy that became notorious for the deaths of hundreds. Soon to thousands of muggles and wizards alike. His name became so feared they called him You-Know-Who. He smiled at the agonizing groan of death. Sang the sweet melody of hell. As so many had fallen at his feet. So many who wished he rotted in jail. He laughed. He cackled at them. He bid them good day as they took their finals breathes. But he was just a little boy who could never feel the pain he caused. 

There was once a little boy who split his soul. He had ripped himself apart. He pushed himself down the ever falling path of immortality. He had achieved. He had stood against death himself. Spit on his shoes and left. He had become less of a man and more of a faint ghost. His looks had started to leave him and his eyes turned red. Blood red as it painted the streets of London and all of Britain. But he was just a little boy who could never be turned back, as he had fallen down a path that was laid out for him. 

There once was a little boy that was feared by all. There was once a little boy who achieved immortality. There was once a boy who could not love or be loved. For he had become a monster. One that was told to be burned in hell. But he would shake his head, laugh at the fools at tell them this was hell and he was their K I N G.