the devil's redemption [tom r.]

26|| Sinful Errors.

I just can't get you out of my head

Girl your loving is all I think about

I just can't get you out of my head

Girl it's more than I dare to think about

~Can't Get You out of My Head by Glimmer of Blooms

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WHY WAS SHE IN so much pain?

Tom was so careless. So careless of her feelings, of her wellbeing. At least that's what she believed.

Damn, he didn't have feelings of his own, how could he possibly bother to care for hers?

But Rosalind wasn't capable of understanding nor relating to Tom. She didn't know what it was like to be devoid of life's blessing that is a curse at the same time.

She didn't know how one couldn't possibly feel anything, for she felt way more than necessary, much more than her own good.

So when she wandered around Little Hangleton, she couldn't help but stop dead in her tracks upon espying a gift store that displayed many items behind a thin shield of glass.

What caught her attention, however, was the black leather notebook that shined tauntingly at her. It seemed more like a diary, and it was eerily familiar. Rosalind was certain that she'd seen it before, but she couldn't quite figure out where she could've seen something like that.

And she guiltily thought about how Tom's birthday was in a few days time. She thought about the fact that he'd grown up in an orphanage, where his birthday wouldn't have been properly appreciated. And she considered buying the diary for him, she considered trying, step by step, to help Tom understand the honest notions of care.

Maybe then she could show him how she truly felt about him.

Because she knew that she'd fallen for him.

And she wasn't proud, that as she went into the shop –purchased the jet-black diary–and made her way back to the inn, she accepted the realisation that she did have feelings for Tom.

She had feelings for the evil dark boy. The alluring fallen angel.

And it killed her to know that he could never feel the same way. Not even if he wanted to.

***

Rosalind stepped into The Hanged Man's Pub, which was conjoined to the inn they'd been staying at. The diary she'd bought was tucked safely inside her cloak, not before using a quick touch of magic to carve Tom's full name in golden letters on the binding of the diary.

She couldn't even guess what Tom was up to. She didn't understand what he'd spoken with his uncle, for she had nothing to do with Parseltongue.

Numerous heads turned towards her upon her entry, surprised that a young lady like her was lingering around in a pub, alone.

She knew that she shouldn't be there, that she was really out of place, but she didn't want to go back to the imprisoning hell of an inn and cry herself till she's too exhausted – and that pub was her only escape for the day.

As she sat on a stool facing the wooden bar that was layered with grime, she tried to distance herself as much as possible from the other old men seated there.