Prologue

21st of October 1989, a Saturday. The season of fall. The streets of Winchester, England were sprinkled with warm hues of falling foliage, the scent of cinnamon and nature filling the air. Well, the scent of rot from leaves anyway. There was a cold chill in the wind advising everyone to prepare themselves for the colder season ahead. As a result, people walked around with the warmest item of clothing they kept in their closets. Others resorted to shopping for the newest model of clothing they can find.

It was around five in the afternoon when an old man got back from London to his cherished orphanage, The Wammy's House. There was nothing else in the world like it but if he only had the funds, he would have loved to establish a foundation of building similar orphanages all over the world with the same goal as his own: to provide a shelter for homeless gifted children. The man in his early fifties stepped out of a taxi cab in front of his orphanage's steel gate. He started opening it when a young woman, barely in her twenties, approached him, a briefcase held by one of her hands. Well-rounded and fair, she appeared to be tired as if lacking sleep for someone her age.

"Good afternoon," she began.

The man nodded. "Good afternoon to you as well."

"I don't mean to interrupt but are you Quillsh Wammy?" the woman asked hesitantly. Her youthful voice resonated with a prominent American accent which Quillsh took note of.

"Why, yes I am, madam." He lifted a bit of his black top hat and placed it back on his head full of white hair. "How may I help you?"

She raised her right hand weakly in front of her to offer him a handshake. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Wammy." The old man stared at her hand before looking back at her straight, shaking her hand professionally. "But it's about my daughter," she continued. "I would like to-have her taken in to your orphanage."

Quillsh glanced to the little girl just right behind her, holding softly onto the hem of the woman's red coat. The girl of light complexion flashed him a modest smile: shy but heartfelt. He smiled back at her, his lips curved and wrinkled under his white moustache. "I don't see a problem why I shouldn't let her stay here but I should probably decide why I have to," he explained to the mother. "You do understand, madam?"

"Yes, Mr. Wammy."

"Perhaps I should know why you want to leave her here," he urged.

At that moment, the woman cringed bit by bit, nervously tucking strands of dark brown hair behind her ear. She began to recall everything that became the reason why she was there in the first place. She remembered her husband. Thoughts of her husband clouded her mind and it scared her. She wanted to tell the old man about this, ask him for comfort, seek refuge from what she believed were wrong decisions she made in her life. But she was hesitating; she did not want anyone else to get involved with her past. She did not want them to worry for her so she tried her best to keep it all inside. "I would like to keep it hush-hush, Mr. Wammy" was all the strength that she could say.

"I see," he replied, stroking his chin. "If the reason's that personal, then I don't think I should have the nerve to pry myself into it." He smiled flatly, so was the tone of his voice. "I still respect your reason and your decision to have her taken in. I just hope you won't have to regret anything in the end."

Slowly, he saw a small tremor crept on the woman's face and she started to weep. Her glove-covered hands cupped her eyes and cheeks to catch her falling tears. Concerned, Quillsh stepped to her side, patted her gently on the back then handed her a white handkerchief which he pulled out from his pocket.

"There, there now. If the burden's too heavy for you to carry, I won't mind you confessing to me," he consoled, a hand offering her the handkerchief which remained suspended in the air.

"But Mr. Wammy…" she sniffed.

"It's alright. I figure it's the only way I can help you-" He slightly glanced to the little girl. "Besides taking full responsibility of your daughter." Putting the rejected handkerchief back in his pocket, Quillsh opened the gate and had his guests walk in. Upon entering, a lush wide open grass field welcomed them, with children of all ages scattered around it. The soft greenery brushed under the soles of their shoes as they walked to a small stairway that lead to a path to the establishment. He turned the heavy bronze knob of the main door and pushed it inside, gesturing his guests in before closing the door.

"This way to my office," he guided as the heels of his shoes clicked on the cold marble. With the mother and her daughter following right behind, the latter looked around in awe as if walking inside a museum. At the end of the long hallway, they have arrived in the promised room and were offered chairs to sit on. Quillsh took off his black coat and draped it on his coat rack before walking to his office desk and finally settling down on his swivel chair, facing his companions. Arms on his desk and fingers entwined, he began. "Go ahead, pray tell me."

The woman, though hesitating, turned her head to her side and nervously brushed her right arm, a maneuver that implied she was getting uncomfortable.

"It's alright, madam. I will keep this sensitive information from reaching other people's ears. I'll ensure that. And don't worry about me," he chuckled. "This is your life. I won't let anyone not even myself get involved in it."

Struggling to let her guard down, she took in heavy sighs before finally unfolding what she had been trying so hard to keep inside as Quillsh listened intently. For an important entity in an underground network, her husband had always been an abusive man. He was a serious no-nonsense kind of man, and he meant business. Because of his work, he had scolded her countless times for not wanting to have children. He thought having children would only destroy his image, in his workplace most likely. His voice echoed in her memory with the same words he had bid her. Yet look at her now, sitting inside an orphanage with a little girl she brought into this world. The woman feared that if she stayed with him, he would not only be pouring out his rage on her but on their daughter as well, and she would not dare let that happen. No, not to her own daughter, the very life she was held responsible for.

The black-haired tyke, uninterested in what was being talked about, pulled out a booklet from the pocket of her grey coat and started reading. Minutes passed by and the mother went down to her conclusion, the reason why she wanted her daughter taken in.

Pondering about her account, the founder slumped back gently on his chair and rested his chin on his chest, stroking his white moustache. After a little while, he nodded and gave a self-assured smile, finally coming to a decision. "I understand now, madam," he reflected. "I know that this is not the best solution-" He glanced to her daughter concernedly before turning to face her again. "But understanding your situation more, I suppose there is no reason nor excuse for me to decline." He then stood up and walked to them. Placing a hand on the mother's shoulder, he spoke. "I'll take her in."

Once all the requirements were satisfied and the papers were filed, the three left the office and stood back on the main hall. The woman knelt and pulled her daughter by the arm to give her one last tight embrace. "I hope you will be good," she bid.

The girl stared at her with calm hazel eyes, the same as her mother's, and replied. "I will."

The woman stood up as she wiped her eyelids dry, with Quillsh opening the door for her. She stepped out and waved good bye before turning her back on them, her head raised and her sullen eyes casted to the dimming horizon, thinking of what was to become of her. The little girl simply watched her mother slowly fading in the distance.

When the woman was out of plain sight, the old man closed the door and turned to the girl. "Should you get homesick, just tell me, alright?"

She shook her head, a blank expression written all over her face. "But that's not how I feel, Mr. Wammy," she replied.

"Oh? How come?"

"Because we both know that she's only doing what is best for all of us."

Thinking, his fingers stroked his white moustache. "You don't think quite like most of the children around here, I see," he commented. "They would usually get homesick and cry every time they'd miss their past homes."

The girl gave a dejected smile. "Unnecessary feelings only make things have a lot less sense, Mr. Wammy," she explained. "Why would anyone waste their time over something that does not make any sense?"

"Because they're probably pining for something more in their life." His lips curved slightly at a poor attempt of a smile. "Now, let's make a record of you here and then we will get you settled in your room."

Upon his word, the pair walked back to the founder's office. The little girl stepped out of her black Mary Jane shoes and perched on the chair she was previously sitting on, kneeling on it as she lowered her body on her legs which carried the rest of her weight, the cotton of her white knee-high socks rasping against the chair's felt cover. She was small but her height was outshone by her youthful face.

Quillsh sat back on his chair and opened a drawer, taking out a record book. He flipped to the page he last wrote on and set a hand holding a pen to it. "What is your name, my dear?"

"Thistle Meg, sir."

Writing what she said down on paper, he explained. "Here in The Wammy's House, children's names and their selected confidential information are kept hidden only in my record, so I suggest that you try not referring yourself with your real name but instead with an alias. Do you understand, my dear?"

"Yes, Mr. Wammy."

"It's alright, child. I won't let anyone know your name nor about other important information about you. You can absolutely trust me," he reassured warmly. "Based on your name, I can call you 'Temi'." He pronounced the word clear enough to emphasize and to help her understand how it was going to be the embodiment of her for the rest of her stay under his roof. "How's that?"

With a friendly smile making its way back on her lips, the girl nodded.