Written under the influence of music. Ginny & Tom belong to J.K. Rowling. Tom's dialogue belongs to Jarvis Cocker, from the song "Death Goes to the Disco".
* * *
Permafrost
He'd always told her she'd never be alone. What first was a comfort to Ginny now left her distressed and troubled her sleep. Drawn to bed each night, struggling unconvincingly, she found herself torn between welcoming the affection showered on her and loathing the very sight of the man granting it.
His breath stung her ear. She felt as if she'd been frostbitten.
"Did I tell you? There was no need to be afraid..."
Tom's transparent fingers ghosted over her cheek. Wisps of lips brushed her neck, and Ginny let her head fall back. She cried out as an icy tongue sliced up her throat, before her voice was rendered hoarse and frozen.
Her pale skin had broken out in gooseflesh. He was arctic cold; the air Tom occupied above her was like a vacuum sucking in all heat. Where his hand touched her bare torso, Ginny felt as if she'd been burnt by dry ice. She imagined, if she rolled from the bed, she'd shatter against the stone floor.
Tom gazed down at her through dark black lashes, then swept in for a kiss. Ginny winced reflexively at the wave of intense cold descending on her. She moved away as best she could, pressing back into the pillow behind her head. Her lips were left violet when he raised his mouth from hers. Ginny's breath manifested as fog through chattering teeth.
"You've got such a beautiful body." He leaned close again to her ear, and under his breath: "Oh, you'll make such a beautiful body."
Ginny woke with a start, troubled breath coming in muted squeals. Her cotton pajamas were already damp with sweat, yet she cocooned herself in her blankets to ward off the residual coldness Tom had inflicted on her.
At first, she'd avoided considering the dreams. When at last she did, she couldn't decide which option was worse: the possibility that the spirit of Tom's memory existed still somewhere inside of her, or that such thoughts were forming in her very own mind.
* * *
Permafrost
He'd always told her she'd never be alone. What first was a comfort to Ginny now left her distressed and troubled her sleep. Drawn to bed each night, struggling unconvincingly, she found herself torn between welcoming the affection showered on her and loathing the very sight of the man granting it.
His breath stung her ear. She felt as if she'd been frostbitten.
"Did I tell you? There was no need to be afraid..."
Tom's transparent fingers ghosted over her cheek. Wisps of lips brushed her neck, and Ginny let her head fall back. She cried out as an icy tongue sliced up her throat, before her voice was rendered hoarse and frozen.
Her pale skin had broken out in gooseflesh. He was arctic cold; the air Tom occupied above her was like a vacuum sucking in all heat. Where his hand touched her bare torso, Ginny felt as if she'd been burnt by dry ice. She imagined, if she rolled from the bed, she'd shatter against the stone floor.
Tom gazed down at her through dark black lashes, then swept in for a kiss. Ginny winced reflexively at the wave of intense cold descending on her. She moved away as best she could, pressing back into the pillow behind her head. Her lips were left violet when he raised his mouth from hers. Ginny's breath manifested as fog through chattering teeth.
"You've got such a beautiful body." He leaned close again to her ear, and under his breath: "Oh, you'll make such a beautiful body."
Ginny woke with a start, troubled breath coming in muted squeals. Her cotton pajamas were already damp with sweat, yet she cocooned herself in her blankets to ward off the residual coldness Tom had inflicted on her.
At first, she'd avoided considering the dreams. When at last she did, she couldn't decide which option was worse: the possibility that the spirit of Tom's memory existed still somewhere inside of her, or that such thoughts were forming in her very own mind.