#Beyond thrilled to see you on my dash and gorge myself on your magnificent portrayal of Tom/Voldemort <3

[corda-comminuta]

La Danse des Âmes

@tmvoldemort, continued from here: X

The vast marble hall was lit by white taper candles. Their light bounced off mirrors and crystals, setting the world into a golden shine. A temple to wealth and influences set in a Rococo finished. There, looking cozy with a socialite was the Minister from France. Trying to keep up with her more dance savvy partner was the fame MACUSA Auror.  Each guest donned a mask. Some had a theme going among them. A Merlin here. Morgana with her date in a Raven mask. A pair with matching silver and gold gilded masks. More than most went with Venina styles. All unaware of the interloper.   Slithering between the throne. His gaze was limited by his plain mask.  How safe they believe themselves to be, Voldemort thought. Foolish to allow masks. Not when a group dons them to wage war against them. Still a few sense something off about it. They shiver as Voldemort slithers by. A chill of moral danger. But Voldemort wasn’t here for them. Spying his intended overlooking the dance floor on a balcony. He came up from behind her. Smelling the fragrant she wore on her neck. Merging into her slight shadow.  Leaning over to whisper in her ear; “Mademoiselle you are not dancing. Surely your date has not abandoned you? Least for someone else to take your fancy.”

Had it been any other soirée dansante in Paris, Nagini would have felt exposed and vulnerable and dread would have clung to her like a second skin. Over the course of her wretched life as an Underbeing, she had seen too much to entertain the delusion that she belonged for a mere instant, not when she was acutely aware of the wand she was barred from carrying, of the power, dignity, and agency she thus lacked compared to the witches and wizards surrounding her.

The relative anonymity granted by masquerade balls such as the one she attended that night did not dispel her discomfort in its entirety, yet at the very least, she did not feel quite as naked with her features concealed behind a plain mask of sufficiently convincing faux silver.

There had been rumors that Credence would be there – or rather Corvus Lestrange, the boy who had (mercifully) died in Credence’s stead and who was still falsely rumored to be his true identity.

Expecting to be dismissed a second time without a glance back, Nagini foolishly found herself aching to know he was at least all right, that – despite her fear and disapproval of Grindelwald and his pureblood supporters – he had found a home, the sense of belonging she had been unable to offer.

Minutes of discretely surveying the masked crowd from her vantage point on a balcony, however, soon turned into two agonizing hours, and despite knowing that her chances of finding him her had been infinitesimal at best, her heart nonetheless sank at her inability to detect a whiff of his familiar scent, the hint of ash and charcoal emanating from his pores.

‘Half an hour,’ she decided. ‘I will stay for another half an hour, but then, I’ll give up.Leave before they notice I’m not one of them.’

But then, all of a sudden, there was a subtle shift in the air, a lone masked wizard weaving his way through the crowd, who was different from the others, different and infinitely more dangerous.

It was evident that even those not cursed with a beast’s enhanced senses intuitively responded to that truth, shivering and angling their torsi so as to facilitate his passage.

It was with a vehement surge of dread that Nagini realized that the stranger was heading towards her, pinning her in place with his eyes alone.

She couldn’t move a single muscle, overwhelmed by the dizzying assault on her senses.

His deep, melodious voice caressed her ear in a tantalizing whisper; the pitch-black magic he exuded ensnared her, its distinct flavor rich on her tongue like expensive dark chocolate.

Nagini had to summon every ounce of her willpower to adopt an air of stoicism.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, Monsieur, but I’m an interpreter, not a guest,” she lied, her tone polite yet distant. “As my employer no longer requires my services, I intend to take my leave.”

Despite the wariness and caution ingrained in her every bone, Nagini found herself lingering for just another moment, granting the enigmatic stranger an opportunity to persuade her otherwise.

#tmvoldemort #muse: Nagini #IC #Veeeeeee~~~ #Beyond thrilled to see you on my dash and gorge myself on your magnificent portrayal of Tom/Voldemort <3 #La Danse des Âmes