「 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 」- 𝙻. 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎

The story of L's successors, of the founding of Wammy's House, begins with two children named A and B — coined the 'generation of failures' by the small handful of those aware of their existence.
In short, A and B were replacements. Backups, for when L died and someone had to take their place as justice personified. Quillish Wammy, the inventor also known as Watari, founded an orphanage for the purpose of raising young prodigies. Not only to provide a successor for L, but to gift the world with carefully constructed brilliance. 

A and B were the two found to have the highest potential, and so while all the other gifted children lived lives of relative comfort, all of their time was devoted to harnessing their mind. They were granted this honour and offered a rigorous course that was supposed to mould them into detectives of extraordinary talent.

But the first two candidates were disasters. In hindsight, it should've been expected. Their caretakers put far too much pressure on them, too heavy a burden for a child to take on. In the end, it cost more than just their lives.
As the story goes, the first child, A, couldn't handle the pressure and hung themselves in the orchards, rigging the cabin they and B lived in to burn. B lost his sanity, ran, and in the end killed three people in a psychotic, failed attempt to best L in an incident now known as the Los Angeles B.B. Murder Cases.

I imagine that now, to speak of A or B is somewhat taboo. We were a disgrace to the name of the entire institution, to L. Only in hushed whispers would our names ever be uttered in that quiet orphanage in Winchester, but I'm sure every child there knows of us. The older ones should still remember that day, seven years ago now.
But all of this is the most that any Wammy's kid could ever gather with their limited resources. And maybe that's for the best, because the whole truth is a terrible story.

A and B. Above Asphodel and Beyond Birthday.
Who were we? What really happened to us?

I didn't learn of B's fate until very recently. I know that at seventeen he began to lose his grip on reality, becoming increasingly obsessed with L in the last months of my life. I've only just learned of his murders, and the news left me in a state of grief and disbelief.

But most likely, if you are one of the small handful of people that know about B, about L's secret line of successors, then you've probably asked yourself at one point — what about A?

...I suppose not everyone gets to have a grand story. L was a man so great he became an icon of justice the likes of which have never been seen, a savant detective with incredible talent, who till the very end solved every single case he'd ever taken on. And Beyond Birthday — his hysteric, blinding determination to surpass L borne from a horrible burden. Sacrificing his humanity in a vain attempt to step over him, hating him till his dying breath.
But... A was remembered as nothing but a failure. I was weak. I had no conviction and so I became collateral damage in a cause much larger than myself. I just couldn't persevere, so I killed myself. A stain on an otherwise storied history. Pitiful.

I died before I could even turn eighteen, but life has made me old inside. The things I lived through continue or haunt me. Seven years later and I'll still wake up in a cold sweat, unable to cry out for help. Seven years later I still struggle to recognise all of the emotions I had to repress in order to survive. Seven years later, and my mouth is still bitter with the foul taste of the cruelty imposed on me.

I'm considered an 'anomaly'. The circumstances of my life damaged my soul, which is why I woke up in the Halfway House for Soul Anomalies upon my death. In creating a new life for myself, I decided to honour my friend Beyond and go by the moniker he once gave me — Above Asphodel.

I'm writing this all down and keeping it in a short book. When I'm gone, I'm counting on a friend to preserve these entries.

It's human nature to want to leave something behind before you die; to memorialise your soul. On Earth, I the only evidence I ever even existed is in the minds of the next generation of Wammy's kids; maybe a cluster of notes someone curious of our history wrote down once. And I don't like that thought, so I'm going to fix that.

I'm also writing this for all the children of Wammy's House and its' affiliates. Undeniably, there is an afterlife and some kind of divine force watching over us. I have my grievances with them and they don't seem to favor me much, but I trust that if they cared enough to put me here, they care enough to make sure the right people find this.

To the readers of this memoir, I ask that you listen to my story in earnest, so that my existence will have gained a bit more meaning.

I wish you all well.

Above Asphodel

☥☥☥

848