REQUIEM - [h.p]

Prelude

Whispers would always spread through the dilapidated halls of the orphanage when something abnormal transpired and eyes would dart accusingly toward the boy and would flicker with fear, trepidation, curiosity, and wariness all at once. Then they would move on to the only other one of them who had, indeed, gotten close enough to properly call Edwyn a friend. Vincent Gaumond was the boy everyone both envied and admired from a distance, not only for accomplishing what many had tried so desperately hard to do but also for his spirited nature. The boy was like a blazing inferno. Brash, fierce, assertive, and above all, Gaumond held a type of indestructible bravery and determination that had never dimmed throughout his time at the orphanage, no matter how many punishments it had gotten him. A stupid sort of bravery, some might say. A virtuous sort of bravery, would say others.

Gaumond was of German descent, you could tell from his straight nose, thinned lips, and dusty-light hair. He was one of the older children, and everyone knew of the boy. Some of the younger children in Whimphrey's could even be described to idolise him. It wasn't a surprise, though. Gaumond gave everything he had to give to anyone who needed it without question or hesitation. He was the lighthouse leading everyone safely ashore within the miserable tumultuous sea that was Whimphrey's.

Caterina Reyna, the most prevalent caretaker within the thrice-damned orphanage and notorious for her terrifying poisonous temper, had a rather vicious association with the young Belmonte boy as well as Gaumond. It was something with which the other children greatly sympathised but there was nothing to do.

Reyna was the type of person who had been hurt one too many times by the sordid world and had nothing left to give but hate and vindictiveness.

The status quo was broken, however, when a curious, strange new type of visitor entered through Whimphrey's rickety old front doors. It was a woman. An odd-looking woman with square-rimmed glasses and foreign clothing that was similar to a dress in the way the material covered her entire body, but it didn't hug the woman's body in the same way. No, instead it was loose-fitting and billowed slightly as she briskly walked through the halls. A few of the more nosy children lingered behind the doorframe as the stranger spoke with Reyna. When the name of one Edwyn Belmonte poured from her lips, eyes widened and feet could be heard scampering off through the halls.

'Edwyn Belmonte has a visitor, you hear?'

And just like clockwork, the whispers spread like wildfire through Whimphrey's halls and speculation began to unfold. Perhaps a personal visit from a doctor—no, they hadn't been dressed like a doctor. An adoption, then—but the lady wasn't that type, you see? Silence, confusion, then more speculations. The whispers never ceased, they always seemed to revolve around the same two people. If it wasn't Vincent Gaumond, then it was near inevitable for the conversation to surround Edwyn Belmonte. So was the natural order within these halls.

Edwyn always did hate those whispers. Well, he hated a lot of things. Vincent never seemed to mind them, though. The boy would take it all in with a grin and if anyone had anything to say about Vincent's own oddities, they were liable to get a fist shoved into their face. Today, however, was a surprisingly uneventful day for the two of them; Reyna, the menace she was, had left them alone. Alone! A miracle, if he had anything to say about it. They never spoke about her that much, nor about the sadistic punishments she liked to hand out like candy. Edwyn hated her with a burning passion, but he didn't like dwelling on that rage for too long. That was when strange things would happen — strange things that he knew for a fact, that he had somehow caused because he could feel it whenever it happened — and if there was one thing he hated more than Reyna, it was that goddamn strangeness.

Vincent never minded one bit, even when the room had gone frigid, or even when the door to their rooms had slammed shut without even the faintest of winds blowing outside. Perhaps it was because Vincent, like him, was also odd. Maybe not in the same way, but more so in his response to the impossible.