Paper Cranes
Wool’s Orphanage, London, 1933
A light wind tugged at the little girl’s platinum blonde hair making her shiver, and she pulled her small coat tighter around herself as a woman with a sharp-featured face ushered her towards the square building surrounded by high railings. The girl couldn’t look any older than four.
The small girl had been wandering in the woods with a lost look on her face when the sharp-featured woman found her. When asked about how she got there, the girl hadn’t been able to recall a thing. She had no recollection of how she ended up in the woods in the first place.
“Are we going in there?” The girl asked in a small voice, pointing to the square building. The leaves in the trees around them continued to rustle as a gust of wind blew passed, once again, making her shiver.
The strict woman didn’t respond, only giving the girl a gentle push forward as the gates to the mysterious building opened. With a curious expression, the girl looked around the courtyard. A row of buildings was attached side by side in a nearly identical design on both sides of the courtyard, almost as if it were a hallway.
The woman led the girl to one of the many residents, holding the door open and gesturing for her to enter. The girl looked around the small but spacious hallway in wonder, counting four doors in total within the small hallway. The stern-looking woman led her to the door furthest away from the entrance on the left side and unlocked the wooden door with a click.
Turning to the girl, the woman finally broke the silence between them after finding her in the woods. “This will be your home from now on,” the woman said, pushing the door wide open, the girl peering into the unfamiliar room. The room was small, containing only a bed, a desk and a chair.
The girl turned when she felt a light touch on her shoulder. “Do you remember your name?” the woman asked in an odd voice, almost as if knowing the answer before the girl gave her response.
The girl shook her head. It was quiet once more as the woman seemed to be lost in thought. “Scarlett Rosewood will be your name from now on.” The woman spoke again after a long moment.
“Scarlett Rosewood.” The newly dubbed Scarlett repeated, testing her new name on her tongue.
The mysterious woman introduced herself at last. “I am Mrs. Cole.”
Mrs. Cole left shortly after telling Scarlett to get comfortable in her new residence. Scarlett sat on the small bed, staring at the wall in front of her for a moment before looking around her tiny room with a frown. She’ll be spending her time here now and there wasn’t anything she could do in her room.
The small, hourglass locket glittered on her neck. Upon waking up in the middle of the woods, she hadn’t found anything that might have belonged to her, except for the peculiar necklace.
She peeked out of her small room, noticing the door in front of her had been left ajar. A pair of dark brown eyes met hers for a moment and a blink later it was gone. She thought she had imagined it. Curiosity getting the best of her, she moved to step out of her tiny room and headed toward the slightly opened door. Giving the door a slight push, the door opened wider and she was met with a tiny room, almost identical to hers. There was a briefcase next to the desk, containing the room owner’s personal belongings. Her gaze shifted to the good-looking young boy who was sitting on the bed with jet-black, neatly parted hair, pale skin and deep dark eyes. The boy appeared to be about two years older than her. He glared at her and she stared back with wide eyes, fascinated.
The boy didn’t appreciate her appraising him like he was some animal. “What are you looking at? This is my room. Get out.” His voice was sharp like it could cut glass and his dark eyes were cold, watching her like a hawk. The pale boy seemed to retain a dangerous aura, which didn’t dim Scarlett’s curiosity. If anything, it intrigued her even more.
The boy’s cold demeanour didn’t discourage her from wanting to interact with him. Determination filled her as she peered at him. “It’s quite obvious that this is your room. I’m not daft.” She grinned, her gray eyes caught on the papers in between the book on his desk.
“Then why are you here?” he demanded, looking angry at her calm demeanour. “What are you doing? Stop,” he commanded, watching as she walked toward his desk and took a piece of paper from between his books. “I said stop!” his voice took on a dangerous tone that would have stopped anyone else, but the girl was undeterred.
Ignoring him, Scarlett started to make folds on the paper she took. It was clear he hadn’t expected her to outright ignore him by the way he had faltered. At the sight of his right-hand twitching, a frown tugged at her lips. He gave off the impression of resorting to violence when things didn't go his way, which wasn’t often, judging by his reaction to her ignoring him. So why was he stopping himself now? She tucked the tidbit of information for later as she continued to make folds. A few more folds later, she held up the paper crane and the boy’s cold eyes melted away to reveal curiosity.
“I’m new here. There’s nothing to do in the small room of mine and I’m bored,” she said, her gaze shifting between the older boy and his room, her eyes gleaming with interest. Setting the paper crane on the desk, she took another piece of paper, repeating the folds from before. “Your room looks more fun than mine.”
The boy frowned, not finding her answer sufficient enough. “You cannot just walk into my room and go through my belongings as if they were your own,” He hissed, and there it was again his right hand twitching.
Another paper crane later, she set it down on the desk beside the first. “So you do have belongings,” She said in triumph, happy that her initial observation was right. The boy’s frown deepened at the smaller girl’s response.
She handed him one of the two paper cranes, his eyes alert as he accepted the paper crane from her. She beamed at him, looking happy. Taking it as him accepting her friendship, she hurried to introduce herself. “I’m Scarlett Rosewood.”
A beat passed he regarded her, keeping his face stoic. “Tom Riddle.”
She tilted her head to the side, watching as his eyes followed the motion. “Short for Thomas?” She asked, wondering if Tom was a nickname and not his full name.
A scowl tugged at his lips as he glared at her. “Of course not. Just Tom if you will.”
“Thomas Riddle,” She said, ignoring his response and grinning as his scowl deepened. “It is a pleasure to meet you,”