The void… an endless, frigid ocean of oblivion. Not darkness, for darkness held the whisper of light, the faintest hope of embers. No, this was emptiness, a gnawing hunger that no magic could sate. Here, I drifted, a tattered sail on a windless sea. Lord Voldemort, reduced to a wisp of malice clinging to the ragged remnants of my soul.
My horcruxes, those anchors to reality, felt distant, brittle. Whispers of their lives reached me, echoes of laughter and love that I could never have, never taste.
This is not the end, it is merely the intermission. For even in this desolate void, Lord Voldemort does not surrender. The cold may steal my warmth, the darkness may shroud my form, but the fire of my ambition still burns. Mark my words, Potter, I will rise again, and the world will know the true meaning of fear.