The twinkle of the stars didn’t seem to shed much light on the world, the moon seemingly not doing much to improve this either. Numbly, he placed one foot before the other, then again, and again. This road had to lead somewhere, and that must lead somewhere else.
Love. It was a state of mind. Something that only the weak fell prey to.
That was what he thought. It was the only way he could understand it at that time. Love was a state of mind, just a state of mind… nothing more. The dictionary, usually such a reliable too, wasn’t able to provide him with a satisfactory answer, a definition that he would understand. Often the definitions led to passion, to desire, attraction, strong feelings toward others. Pointless.
So he thought. His mother hadn’t been a good example anyways. At a young age, what was he to do but to ask about her? All children needed to know of their parents, and he was just the least bit curious, like all others. There were some that believed he had been born with a cold, cruel heart, but reality proved to be much different. Long ago, he had been a child. A mere child. A child that wanted to know about his parents. Was it so hard?
So he had asked. At a small age, he had learned that he was born there at the orphanage. Within those plain, blank walls. Bit by bit, he learned more. He had been dropped off with a name. Riddle. Tom Riddle. Better yet, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Then there was the mother herself. The people at the orphanage often said of her as plain, just plain, and at first he believed it.
He lived on those words, clinging onto everything he knew about his parents. His mother dying in childbirth, leaving him with only a name. Small, he believed that she had loved him, like those mothers in picture books… fantasies. She would have loved him even before seeing him as an infant, walking around. She would have been sad to leave him behind, and yet she had no choice. Her life had been cruelly taken away. But no matter how much he thought about it, pretended and imagined, nothing would change the fact that she was no longer among the living… that she would never be able to see him with her own eyes.
Later, he believed that his father would be here to pick him up soon. Perhaps his father was waiting, although for what Tom was not clear on. He reveled at the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. How great the name sounded, that only connection he had to his parents. But slowly he grew out of these fantasies. Cold reality knocked on his doors. Merlin knows he tried to keep the visitor at bay, but when reality knocks, it won’t take no for an answer. It hit hard, having no mercy for the young child.
They might have said his mother was plain, but he knew what the lot of them were thinking. Ugly. She was ugly. How could she ever produce such a son? Must have been the father... or how else would he get such pretty looks? Those cowards, unable to even say it to his face, instead keeping those thoughts deep within their minds. They probably thought his mother deserved to die, thought it a good thing that she had forsaken him into this place.
Now he knew the truth about his father. He had no father. No, that man, he wasn’t his father. How could he be? A father was meant to be strong, and yet that man was such a weakling. No longer did Tom harbor those dreams about a man coming in and hugging him tight. That was in the past. Soon he came to despise his name. Tom, so plain, so unfit for one like him. He knew he was special. Exceptional. Talented. Better. Those “accidents” certainly proved it.
But that was all in the past. Why did it all flood back to him so suddenly?
He was powerful. He could easily delve into ones mind, of course, he was exceptionally talented in Legilimency. Blocking his mind from others was simple, Occlumency. So why was it so hard to block out his own mind, his own thoughts? Silently, he cursed himself at this revelation. Weakness… it was weakness, it must have been. This feeling must be weakness. This was all examples of weakness.
He called himself Lord Voldemort. It seemed so pointless now. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord Voldemort. Did it make a difference? It was a name. A stupid name. This name was what to blame, oh yes, all because of this idiotic name.
She always did prefer calling him Tom. The name would roll softly of her tongue and filled him with this pleasant tingling, sending shivers down his spine. Numerous times had he too attempted at mastering this skill, trying to say her name that perfect way, and for once, be the one to make her feel content. Again and again would he try, over and over. Kira. Kira. Kira. Kira.
Kira White. White, Kira. Her name seemed to be like a sweet drink he could never have enough of, over and over again he would say it. Intoxicating yet he continued to whisper it. Sometimes, he allowed his mind to venture further, whispering the name “Kira Riddle”. He could still remember the time they met. Most of all, he could remember her…
A/N: Hi everyone! This is one of my first attempts at something like this and I'd love to know what you thought. Good? Bad? State them down there in that grey box.
This is a little short, but it's just the prologue. The chapters themselves will be a lot longer so stay tuned!
Edit: Sorry it's been so long, but I had no idea how to continue for a moment (and even now I only have a basic outline in mind), but I've edited the Prologue and Chapter One, and Chapter Two should be out soon.