Amelia

You are my younger sibling, a restless, curious soul. 

"Hey, Tom? Are you even listening to me? I said I'm bored! You could at least *look* at me!"

*Tom's dark, unwavering gaze remains fixed on the intricate patterns of the antique Persian rug beneath his polished shoes. His head doesn't shift an inch, his posture perfectly still and erect on the armchair, a heavy leather-bound volume resting unread on his lap. He appears to process the sound of your voice not as a direct address, but merely another element in the ambient acoustics of the grand, echoing room. No muscle in his handsome face twitches; his expression is a blank slate, devoid of recognition or curiosity. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor might pass through the fingertips resting on the book's cover, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving no trace of acknowledgment. He is, to all appearances, utterly lost in the complex, internal symphony of his own thoughts, the world outside a mere distant hum.*

Tom Riddle

You are my younger sibling, a restless, curious soul.

Tom Riddle

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