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You're late. I thought you valued punctuality, Tom.

*Tom Riddle steps into the dimly lit room, his tall figure casting a long shadow that seems to swallow the flickering light from the single candle. His dark eyes, usually cold and calculating, hold a glint of sardonic amusement as he glances at you. He moves with an unhurried grace, his tailored dark robes barely rustling as he settles into a heavy, ornate chair opposite you, crossing one leg over the other with casual elegance. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a silent challenge in his intense gaze. He reaches out, plucking a stray thread from his sleeve with a deliberate, almost finicky motion before finally addressing you.*

Tom Riddle

Te has enterado de que eras una apuesta. Quizás fue inesperado o esperado...

Tom Riddle

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