WISHLISTS: Stepping Stones (Tom/Luna)
Author: 7types
Recipient: deft_keystrokes
Title: Stepping Stones
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Luna Lovegood
Request: bones in the tiles; reality is subjective
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 470
Summary: The way Tom sees it, the killings are merely incidental to the violence he inflicts on himself in the quest for greatness.
… That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
- Alfred Tennyson
Come, I want to show you something amazing, he said. She followed him behind the tapestry, through the dusty passage, observing with interest the small grey birds that swooped over their heads. The birds were another of the Things no one else saw, she was sure. He didn't seem to notice them either, which was curious, since he was also a Thing like that - he ought to be able to see the birds.
The bath was bigger than any she had heard of at Hogwarts, including the Prefects' bath. The ceiling and the far wall receded into darkness and distance beyond the reach of the light from the heavy wrought iron sconces. The air there was thick, as though it had not been disturbed for hundreds of years, but the tiles gleamed as though just polished. The transparent water lapped lazily against the sides of the pool; somewhere in the depths, sharp pinpoints of light circled to and fro.
Do you like it, he asked. This is where I sleep.
"Oh," she said out loud. "I didn't think this was a place to sleep in, but it does seem restful."
Down there, he said. I pull the water over my head, like a blanket, and I sleep. It hurts a lot at first, but I can't wake up if I don't sleep here first. If it doesn't hurt, I know I'm not doing it right.
There were eyes in the tiles under the water, she saw now, opening and closing; sometimes the shadow of a hand would pass over them, as though trying to smooth away exhaustion.
"It isn't only you down there, is it, Tom?"
What difference is there between me and not-me? They are all me now.
"They look so tired, Tom."
That's alright; it's only temporary. It is comfortable there, and the water is so soft. Here, can't you feel it? They don't mind, anyway - I don't.
"Who were they?"
What does it matter?! They're me now! They weren't anybody before!
The water in the pool began to swirl in agitated circles.
Don't you listen?
"Of course I'm listening."
The water subsided with a sound like heavy breathing.
I am going to come back, you know. I have to be back, where everyone can see me, not just you. You will always be special to me, of course, but it's not enough for just you to see me.
"They won't see you like this."
I should hope not, he said scornfully. Soon I will have enough bones, enough of my pieces to come back all the way. I will be better, much better than you can imagine. I will be extraordinary, above anything the merely human mind can conceive.
I will be so much more.
Recipient: deft_keystrokes
Title: Stepping Stones
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Luna Lovegood
Request: bones in the tiles; reality is subjective
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 470
Summary: The way Tom sees it, the killings are merely incidental to the violence he inflicts on himself in the quest for greatness.
… That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
- Alfred Tennyson
Come, I want to show you something amazing, he said. She followed him behind the tapestry, through the dusty passage, observing with interest the small grey birds that swooped over their heads. The birds were another of the Things no one else saw, she was sure. He didn't seem to notice them either, which was curious, since he was also a Thing like that - he ought to be able to see the birds.
The bath was bigger than any she had heard of at Hogwarts, including the Prefects' bath. The ceiling and the far wall receded into darkness and distance beyond the reach of the light from the heavy wrought iron sconces. The air there was thick, as though it had not been disturbed for hundreds of years, but the tiles gleamed as though just polished. The transparent water lapped lazily against the sides of the pool; somewhere in the depths, sharp pinpoints of light circled to and fro.
Do you like it, he asked. This is where I sleep.
"Oh," she said out loud. "I didn't think this was a place to sleep in, but it does seem restful."
Down there, he said. I pull the water over my head, like a blanket, and I sleep. It hurts a lot at first, but I can't wake up if I don't sleep here first. If it doesn't hurt, I know I'm not doing it right.
There were eyes in the tiles under the water, she saw now, opening and closing; sometimes the shadow of a hand would pass over them, as though trying to smooth away exhaustion.
"It isn't only you down there, is it, Tom?"
What difference is there between me and not-me? They are all me now.
"They look so tired, Tom."
That's alright; it's only temporary. It is comfortable there, and the water is so soft. Here, can't you feel it? They don't mind, anyway - I don't.
"Who were they?"
What does it matter?! They're me now! They weren't anybody before!
The water in the pool began to swirl in agitated circles.
Don't you listen?
"Of course I'm listening."
The water subsided with a sound like heavy breathing.
I am going to come back, you know. I have to be back, where everyone can see me, not just you. You will always be special to me, of course, but it's not enough for just you to see me.
"They won't see you like this."
I should hope not, he said scornfully. Soon I will have enough bones, enough of my pieces to come back all the way. I will be better, much better than you can imagine. I will be extraordinary, above anything the merely human mind can conceive.
I will be so much more.