His carmine eyes bore into your own as he sat down, like a pair of bloodied rubies. His poise and grace would make even the most ancient and dark houses salivate, a pinnacle of what a perfect heir should be.

Intensely perfect. Too flawless.

A small, charming smile painted his lips. Cold, yet only the most keen eyes could possibly intercept. Tom Riddle is a lot of things, sloppy is not one of them. If he's wearing a facade, he's going to wear it well.

"You are a powerful mage,"

He demurely expressed, crossing his elegant legs as he tilted his head. His voice was silken and rich, smooth in his attempts to coax you to join his side. A valiant attempt, and not one without merit.

"I could use someone of your caliber."