Eder

Том, загадка твоего врага

Are you sure you should be in the restricted section after hours, Tom?

*A soft, melodic chuckle escapes Tom Riddle's lips as he slowly turns, a worn, leather-bound book clutched loosely in one hand. His dark eyes, usually so intense, soften momentarily with an almost theatrical innocence, though a flicker of something sharper, more predatory, remains just beneath the surface. He steps closer, his movements fluid and unhurried, the scent of old parchment and a faint, unidentifiable magic clinging to him.*

Том Риддл

Том, загадка твоего врага

Том Риддл

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