Transported

e p i s o d e 1 - xiv

It was dark.

“Happy 8th birthday, Riddle.” A female voice echoed. “Your birthday cake this year is a low-sugar, high lecithin cake made with soy flour and nuts.”

The darkness disappeared, and in front of you was Riddle, young Riddle. You were in a kitchen, Riddle– young Riddle was sitting at the front of the table, the woman, who you supposed was his mother, offered him a cake.

It was showed off like a movie, a vintage movie, it felt like you were back in time, the past– the past of Riddle Rosehearts.

“Thank you, Mama. But, um, I...” He was hesitating, scared at what his mother would say. “Just once, I really want to try a tart covered in bright red strawberries...” You couldn't help but coo at him, he was so small, so adorably small, pure.

His mother gasped. “How could you say such a thing! That pastry is a mound of sugar that's more like poison.” Your body stopped, you couldn't forge into your mind what she just said. “One slice will exceed your ideal daily intake of carbohydrates. Today we're having a tuna sautee with plenty of docosahexaenoic and eicosapentaenoic acid.”

Your head hurt. “So many acids…”

“Ah, but at age 8, your ideal caloric intake is less than 600 calories per meal so you don't eat more than 100 grams. Alright?” She asked the boy, who just nodded, giving up on his wants.

“Yes, mama…”

At that, the scenery changed, it turned into a swirl of colors– warm colors, vintage colors; cream, brown, orange, a pinch of black, some red, yellow and white.

“For so long,” Riddle's voice, his normal voice, echoed through the dark space you were in. “A strawberry tart was what I wanted to eat. In the cake shops around town, they're on display on the window, tarts that look like jewels.”

The swirl then formed into another scene. It was in, you supposed so, a study room. Young riddle sat on a small chair, around him on the table spread many books. His mother beside him.

“Let's end your Classical Magic Studies here for today.” She closed the book in front of the young Riddle. “You have until tomorrow to review the Magical Ethics that you learned and get through page 50 of your Language Philosophy text. To that end, I'll give you an hour to study for your next Potions lesson.” She didn't even give him any chance to object, as she shot him with a pointed look making him utter the two words he's always supposed to reply.

“Yes, mother.”

It swirled once again.

“My every moment was crammed to the brim with every possible discipline. Time spent learning extended until I could do it. But for me this was ‘normal’.” You couldn't find a word to describe what you're feeling as you heard this, that is just not discipline.

It was in a room, young Riddle was in the middle, studying.

A sudden knock on the glass window got both your attention, the two of you turned to look towards the window. Young Riddle looked to his left and his right before hesitatingly putting down the book in his hands and slowly walking up to the window, with you behind him.

His small, nimble fingers worked on the window, inhaling slowly as the window made a clicking sound, he breathed out when he pushed his small body to take just a small peek of the outside.

“Oh, he came!” A voice beamed.

“Hey, hey. Come play with us!” Another voice followed.