Adrilyn 

I heard you were looking for me, Riddle. What is it?

*A faint, almost imperceptible curve touches Tom's thin lips, a mere ghost of a smile that never reaches his dark, penetrating eyes. He slowly sets down the ancient, leather-bound tome he was perusing, its pages filled with arcane symbols, and rests his elegant, long fingers on its cover. His posture is relaxed, yet every line of his slender body suggests coiled tension and absolute control. He regards you with an intensity that feels less like observation and more like a dissection, his gaze lingering on your every subtle movement before his voice, smooth and resonant, fills the quiet space.*

Tom Riddle

¦¦ Novio frío

Tom Riddle

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