oo1 // Action | OTA
[Once inside the city, Tom allows himself one small moment of panic. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. He'd practised for months, made sure to do everything with the utmost precision...he'd even decided to use the Room of Hidden Things, to ensure that he wouldn't be disturbed.
And now...what? He was dead? Just like that? It was unacceptable. It was wrong. It was not how this was supposed to work. The diary was supposed to be his insurance against this very thing, not the cause of it. The thought that it could be a prank goes through his mind only once; no one would ever prank Tom Riddle and no one knew where he'd been anyway.]
Impossible. This is all...
[He leans back against the nearest wall and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He's exhausted, just about everything hurts, and there's distinct feeling that something is missing, which is more a comfort than anything right now. It feels like it worked. But then how could he be here?
He moves to rub at his temple only to find the ridiculous fireplace poker still in his hand (since it wouldn't fit in his pocket). So up goes the other hand, the one with his wand (which up until now has been shooting off red sparks in his agitation), to rub at his forehead as he stares at the piece of metal.]
What am I supposed to do with this...?
And now...what? He was dead? Just like that? It was unacceptable. It was wrong. It was not how this was supposed to work. The diary was supposed to be his insurance against this very thing, not the cause of it. The thought that it could be a prank goes through his mind only once; no one would ever prank Tom Riddle and no one knew where he'd been anyway.]
Impossible. This is all...
[He leans back against the nearest wall and takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He's exhausted, just about everything hurts, and there's distinct feeling that something is missing, which is more a comfort than anything right now. It feels like it worked. But then how could he be here?
He moves to rub at his temple only to find the ridiculous fireplace poker still in his hand (since it wouldn't fit in his pocket). So up goes the other hand, the one with his wand (which up until now has been shooting off red sparks in his agitation), to rub at his forehead as he stares at the piece of metal.]
What am I supposed to do with this...?