𝕬 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖎𝖘 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖓 | 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 |

Chapter 1- The Orphanage

Everything started in that late summer bustle of 1935 in the heart of a large city called London. A city so grand that it hardly needs much of an introduction. However, during that particular year, the infamous urban setting was busy booming with all that new technology and style. It was supposed to be one of the most vibrant places to live in. However, all that glitter was mostly a clever ruse to fool the ordinary outside observers. The city was only so kind as to open its doors to the people who already had a foot in them. Not everyone was allowed to feel the warmth of this bright-lighted city of wonder. There was the sly catch of being born at the right place and time, and belonging to the right family. Belonging to anyone really. However, the boy involved in this particular story was not so fortunate. He was born eight years before this wonderful resurgence of life, nearly dropped directly from the womb onto the steps of the city's orphanage.

As bizarre as it might sound, Wool's Orphanage was actually a significantly happier place to be before he got there. However, as if preparing for the arrival of a most unwelcomed patron, bad things suddenly started happening. At first it was merely little insignificant things, like a couple of broken glasses on occasion, or a sudden cold breaking out amongst the children. A simple string of bad luck, but nothing completely dreadful. The real hardships at the orphanage began with an untimely death. The establishment was once run by a Mr. Archibald Cole . He was a vibrant man, with a great passion to help the less fortunate. Along with his loving wife, they made sure no child was left alone on the streets of London. Mr. Cole was only thirty-three years old when he died of an unexpected illness one cold winter night, and everything seemed to unravel in his wake. More broken then surely everything else was his wife. The orphanage was now left in her hands, and she did not have the faintest clue how to run it alone. There were many days she cared about nothing, a day or two when she was far too strict, and some days where she just completely shut down. Crumbling. To add even further to her troubles, her husband's death was only the first of the many real tragedies to occur at Wool's Orphanage.

Exactly a year after the death of her husband, a boy was born.

Not her child, certainly. She was already past her child-bearing years and could barely handle the dozens she'd been saddled with beyond her will. Although, to be fair, who could handle over thirty children 24/7 and not be driven completely insane? She was only human at the time. The mother of this unfortunate child seemed to be something less when she arrived at Wool's. It was a young woman, who looked not much older than eighteen, but was already rather torn and broken. A common slag who you would definitely look away from on the street, if you were raised proper and English. No one you would ever want to look twice at. If she hadn't arrived at the orphanage already going into labor, Maggie Cole would've most certainly turned her away. However, the woman had shown up on the steps of the orphanage, mad with desperation and pleading for help. Thankfully, she'd hired a few ladies to help her run the place and they managed to pull the young woman off the orphanage stoop to give birth. They had arrived on New Year's Eve of all the inconvenient days too. He hadn't even technically arrived, but he was already so unwelcome.

Why was a miracle, such as the birth of a child, thought of as such a tragic thing? Unfortunately, the anonymous woman wanted to die and insisted that the infant live on in her place. Her horrid wish was soon granted, and she passed away minutes after the birth of a beautiful baby boy. She lived only long enough to give him a name and left him pretty much the only child to ever be born an orphan so literally. None of the other supposedly unlucky kids he would meet during his time there could claim to have been born on the very floor of this sad institution. His mere existence was an inescapable tragedy. The poor child was cursed from that night onward. He'd been born in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and by the wrong person.

That boy would spend the most vital years of his youth struggling to fight against the omnipotent forces that had decided on cursing him. No matter what he did, any future he craved for himself was flushed down the toilet immediately by his circumstances. There was supposedly nothing good waiting for him out there in the harsh, cruel world. However, it was the summer of 1935 that brought another unfortunate and unwelcomed new arrival to meet him.