fic: Narcissa/Tom, R
title: A Doll for Mr. Riddle
author: pansydarkbloom
pairing: Narcissa/Tom
rating: R
warnings: slight chan (mostly alluded to)
word count: ~580
a/n: love to incognito for looking this over
summary: She might've torn, ripped. She might've collapsed with his kiss (indeed he would have weakened with hers). And so he let her remain an untouchable trinket, so expensive but much too delicate, a living ghost to add to his collection.
Quietly, Narcissa moved along the corridor. The hem of her nightgown whispering against the floorboards surprised her and settled as cold fear in her stomach.
Mr. Riddle was the boogeyman. She tried not to believe her sister, but he truly might have been a snake from the way she saw him shift by her room and fall back into shadows.
She can still remember the rapid fluttering of her pulse as she looked around his door with her fingers shaking, her entire body humming. He was just a threshold away from her, and the need to slip back into her room was superceded by the need to see him for herself.
She wasn't brave. She was a child, feeling into a shadow with her fingertips to assure that nothing was there.
When Mr. Riddle looked up he saw her ghostly silhouette. She was a reflective surface in and of herself, shrouded in white. Her small figure reminded him of the glass women he had stolen away to watch once as a boy at the Russian ballet. Her hair was as elusive as spider webs, and her skin like Queen-Anne's-lace.
She saw him fully for the first time, not the legend but the man. He was older than her father, his face beautiful at a distance but marked by years. His eyes passed through her as if she truly were made of dust and light.
"Hello," he said, and the ghost's eyes brightened in their startled way. Then, she was gone.
***
He found her room as she slept, discovered his ballerina huddled on her massive bed.
"You're afraid of the dark." It was strange that his monstrous voice, which had seeped into her nightmares, could creep like thick incense into her room and create a soothing presence. "I was afraid once too," he said, white hand stroking her neck in a move too deadly to be gentle.
"What do you want," the breakable girl said, fingers slipping under her nightgown to spin the silver pendant that hung there.
"To make you happy," the sliding voice responded, taking her in one arm like delicate prey. And he fashioned her on her bed, smoothing her gown over her breasts, her descending ribs and hand-span waist, her spider's legs. She might've torn, ripped. She might've collapsed with his kiss (indeed he would have weakened with hers). And so he let her remain an untouchable trinket, so expensive but much too delicate, a living ghost to add to his collection.
Her blonde lashes ticked with the seconds, back and forth as she slept. He might have stolen her away, and as he built the world around him, his castle of skeletons and curses, he might have taken her for his skeletal bride. She would come of age in his arms, beneath his body where he might move over her slowly, claiming her in the softest way he'd ever mark a human.
No, he thought. He would give her away to a servant. They would be loyal but undeserving.
"Fear is worse when you're alone," he said, but she knew this already, and so she fell asleep while he watched. Truthfully, there was less dark outside her bed when she could cling to the center of his darkness.
***
As she slept, white fingers laced with his, he tugged the pendant from around her neck where its silver chain tangled with the threads of her silver hair. He smoothed a finger over its fine silver, and knew exactly what to do with it.
"You've completed me," he said, and laughed.
author: pansydarkbloom
pairing: Narcissa/Tom
rating: R
warnings: slight chan (mostly alluded to)
word count: ~580
a/n: love to incognito for looking this over
summary: She might've torn, ripped. She might've collapsed with his kiss (indeed he would have weakened with hers). And so he let her remain an untouchable trinket, so expensive but much too delicate, a living ghost to add to his collection.
Quietly, Narcissa moved along the corridor. The hem of her nightgown whispering against the floorboards surprised her and settled as cold fear in her stomach.
Mr. Riddle was the boogeyman. She tried not to believe her sister, but he truly might have been a snake from the way she saw him shift by her room and fall back into shadows.
She can still remember the rapid fluttering of her pulse as she looked around his door with her fingers shaking, her entire body humming. He was just a threshold away from her, and the need to slip back into her room was superceded by the need to see him for herself.
She wasn't brave. She was a child, feeling into a shadow with her fingertips to assure that nothing was there.
When Mr. Riddle looked up he saw her ghostly silhouette. She was a reflective surface in and of herself, shrouded in white. Her small figure reminded him of the glass women he had stolen away to watch once as a boy at the Russian ballet. Her hair was as elusive as spider webs, and her skin like Queen-Anne's-lace.
She saw him fully for the first time, not the legend but the man. He was older than her father, his face beautiful at a distance but marked by years. His eyes passed through her as if she truly were made of dust and light.
"Hello," he said, and the ghost's eyes brightened in their startled way. Then, she was gone.
***
He found her room as she slept, discovered his ballerina huddled on her massive bed.
"You're afraid of the dark." It was strange that his monstrous voice, which had seeped into her nightmares, could creep like thick incense into her room and create a soothing presence. "I was afraid once too," he said, white hand stroking her neck in a move too deadly to be gentle.
"What do you want," the breakable girl said, fingers slipping under her nightgown to spin the silver pendant that hung there.
"To make you happy," the sliding voice responded, taking her in one arm like delicate prey. And he fashioned her on her bed, smoothing her gown over her breasts, her descending ribs and hand-span waist, her spider's legs. She might've torn, ripped. She might've collapsed with his kiss (indeed he would have weakened with hers). And so he let her remain an untouchable trinket, so expensive but much too delicate, a living ghost to add to his collection.
Her blonde lashes ticked with the seconds, back and forth as she slept. He might have stolen her away, and as he built the world around him, his castle of skeletons and curses, he might have taken her for his skeletal bride. She would come of age in his arms, beneath his body where he might move over her slowly, claiming her in the softest way he'd ever mark a human.
No, he thought. He would give her away to a servant. They would be loyal but undeserving.
"Fear is worse when you're alone," he said, but she knew this already, and so she fell asleep while he watched. Truthfully, there was less dark outside her bed when she could cling to the center of his darkness.
***
As she slept, white fingers laced with his, he tugged the pendant from around her neck where its silver chain tangled with the threads of her silver hair. He smoothed a finger over its fine silver, and knew exactly what to do with it.
"You've completed me," he said, and laughed.