psych! ; tom riddle

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IN A QUAINT CAFE in Downtown Manhattan, Amora  Blanche was fettered to a book . Coffee-stained and torn, with pencil marks for borders and aimless illustrations in the margins where she fell  victim to boredom, she read idly and with delectation while her coffee went cold and the hands on the clock danced in consonancy. Corks plugged her ears where music resonated, magical ivory symphonies both left and right through embellished and caparisoned ears and as the world obfuscated into stifled sound, vines grew through her cerebral and cultivated flowers of thought until abstraction blossomed.

The digital numbers on her wrist struck 4:30 as she turned the parchment over and began to drink up the next paragraph, titillatingly printed in black Garamond with pretty splotches and speckles of brown caffeine and an accidental bleed through of pen ink to match. Afternoon light trickled through glass panes and while its golden spotlights fell to her fingertips and seeped into the opals of her rings she danced her nails along the divots of tabletop mahogany until the indentations left marks and messages:

Amora was here.

Amora was hardly ever disrupted, friends were hard to come by despite the city being so substantial, and she was never one that sought for camaraderie. She was pretty but never really believed it so, and while passerby's may have deemed her dulcet and agreeable in her features, her confidence was dwindled into the pretty little highlights of her green and hazel spotted eyes and the weaves of curls that coiled around the frame of her face like tendrils of vines on a fence.

So, one can imagine that as the rumble of the already tremulous tabletop sloshes cold brown liquid across the table and into her lap she was no doubt taken by surprise. Utterance of a gasp while her body seized with freight she could not help by examine the puddle that had begun to stain her lap in a monstrosity of unfashionable sorrel brown.

"God, are you serious?" Her crass exclamation, though warranted was harsh as small curls fell from its clip and began to stick out in directions like a sunrise from an elementary styled delineation. Her body still tense and awkward from her seat remained frozen while the idea of moving slipped away in her disorientation, the book that once laid open with wallpapers of tidings had shut closed, never to be opened again and the table now slightly askew still had a shake to its legs as it fell under her scrutinization.

A groan, perhaps equally as apoplectic and indignant rippled on the shores of the pastry scented air and the rasp of it managed to make her slip for she suddenly felt like she was drowning as she turned her gaze up and saw him.

"I'm so sorry"

It was unpretentious from what she could infer. His hands trembled ever the slightest while he fumbled to correct his foul up and while it was inefficacious she could not help but simply swim in him.

He looked like a book character, with pretty blue eyes and pale complexion and hair so absolutely black that it was beyond the scale of shades, unattainable to match or apply verbatim to a portrait. He had the type of face that nothing could conceivably come close to doing justice and regardless of its asininity, she did not care all that much in regards to the growing stain of her pants  for she was far more occupied in memorizing his features inasmuch as she was sure she could never find someone just as exquisite as he.

"Im sorry truly, let me buy you another, or pay for cleaning or—"

"Its fine" she blurted, afraid that the richness of his accent might make her go mental, and however much his aura was so absolutely narcotic she wanted nothing more for him to just smile and proceed.

Despite how antisocial Amora may seem she had a... habit of falling—

hard.

And suppose this stranger continued with his exquisitely disparate accent like deep rich wine of duende addictiveness, and spoke with such candor and benevolence she was sure to fall into the rumination of whats, ifs and buts of obsessive admiration and fantasizing.

"But I've completely ruined your trousers!"

"No really, its all right"

He had this smile to him, a little crescent of such where his pinkish toned lips turned up and a small dimple to the left of his cheek sank until sweetness collected and dripped across his skin to the cut of his jaw in the form of afternoon light. His teeth flashed white, too white, he was too perfect for a stranger, an obvious foreigner for his mannerism was far too polite, and he was far too patient to still be around—but no matter, he was too perfect and she was too suspicious.

"Please allow me to at least get you another book if anything."

The thick stack of annotated paper had, to her realization grown drenched from corner to corner in pellucid brown liquid and even though it didn't matter all that much to her considering she had the copy on the digital screen in her back pocket she was tempted to take him up on it.

"Please." Pleading with furrowed brows of artless sincerity while ringed fingers pressed together at the bends of his lips in a beseeching stature, his blue eyes grew dark as if he was determined. And her being the kind person that she was wanted nothing more than to make him satisfied after all... right?

"Sure." Cheeky grin of pleasantry and a sweetness on her tongue she managed to stumble from her spot and completely forget the fact that brown littered the cloth of her pants. But his laughter, another chime of complete and utter refulgence and splendor made her skin hot while his eyes fell to her legs and she could not help but blush. Maybe it was irresponsible to suddenly leave with a stranger who, as brisk evening city air kissed her skin laid his own coat to her shoulders, and perhaps it was the cause, for her usual calculable thinking went out the door.

Unusal?
yes.

Capricious?
yes.

Dangerous?
god fucking yes times a thousand.

But this little nudge at her conscious made her disregard all other matters and howbeit this stranger led her through downtown streets she didn't care at all.

She didn't even know his name she thought as they waited at the corner of Wooster and Bleecker street,

but as if he read her mind he spoke. "Tom Riddle"

And as if she was compelled to respond she smiled with an airy reply. "Amora Blanche."