Prologue
My name is Elysia. Elysia Riddle. Thats not really important, however, as you wont remember it. I'm the Forgotten. No one remembers me, ever. It's like some sort of. . . Curse.
A baby is set on a door step and the door bell rung. Tom Riddle opens the door to find only the child, and kicks it off his front step, slamming the door closed. He walked toward the drawing room, hiding a ring under one of the floor boards when he got an idea. Walking back out he picked up the newborn, healed her instantaneously and took her back inside. . .
"Elysia, I'm about to run out to the store and pick up something for dinner. Would you like to join me?" The woman called to me from downstairs. I slipped on my dirty old converset and ran to the front door, eager to be out again.
"Yes, yes of course!" I said, smiling eagerly as I opened the door. She turned around, eyes narrowed.
"Who are you? How'd you get into my house?" She asked accusingly. Before she could follow me, I ran back upstairs, grabbed a small bag and shoved my few belongings inside of it. I heard the loud stomping of her feet on the stairs as she tried to follow me, but I jumped out the window, only falling about five or six feet. I ran and ran, to the place I called home when I wasn't staying with a polite stranger for a few days. I sat on the swing, and looked at the sign across the street. Privet Drive.
I pulled my bookbag off my back and set it on my lap, opening it to examine the contents. I had one change of clothes, about two dollars with some change, an apple, and a picture. I debated eating the apple, and decided I better wait til later so I wouldn't be starving tomorrow. I took out the picture and stared at it, something I did whenever I was alone. Or well, almost always. It was some how calming to stare at my fathers face. Even if he wasn't one of the best fathers out there. . .
I examined his features, taking everything in. He had rich brown hair, nicely chiseled features, pale skin, and red eyes. I thought it was a little bit peculiar, as I'd never seen anyone with red eyes. Well, to be honest, my eyes aren't that normal either. I often wonder if my father is just as peculiar as I am. I have grey eyes, that sometimes turn pitch black, and long wavy black hair. I'm pretty tan, but only because I spend most of my time roaming the streets alone. All my clothes are baggy and to big, because I buy them at little thrift stores and they dont have much. I see it as a good thing that they are so big, because then I dont have to try and buy more so often. I watched as my long, thin fingers pushed the photo back into the bag. I stood up, deciding I should get farther away in case the woman hasn't forgotten me yet and called the cops. I shouldered my pack, and started walking in the direction the river.