The very unwilling designated caretaker
I was two years old when they moved us from the nursery to the upper floors. It turned out my armistice with the demon spawn resulted in me becoming his personal caretaker, which was a nightmare. I was stuck with him for an undetermined length of time, possibly until he developed adequate social skills. I was utterly defeated; it could take years!
Moving to the upper floors exposed me to the outside world and a rather astonishing revelation: time travel. Could this be what happened to me? I couldn't recall ever living in the 20th century!
I had somehow overlooked glaring signs such as old-fashioned clothing, outdated hairstyles, and even discussions about antiquated topics like "world wars," "European politics," and "choosing sides." I had mistakenly assumed that the few adults around me were merely enthusiastic about historical events.
How naive of me!
I found myself in London, Great Britain, in the year 1928, born between the two world wars and likely to experience the most devastating conflict in history.
Oh, bloody hell…
My misfortune was difficult to believe.
Tom, my roommate, gave me a peculiar look and raised an eyebrow when I banged my head against the door of our new bedroom in frustration, futilely hoping to awaken from this terrible dream.
I learned his name was Tom. Lacking a surname, the caretakers referred to him as "You" or "Devil," sometimes calling him "Tom" in moments of generosity. Oddly enough, he seemed to despise the name. My name was Aurora—Aurora Alby.
What an unusual name, in my opinion. Yet, Tom appeared envious of its uniqueness.
Other children were cautious around Tom, and by extension, me. They believed that only a devil could tolerate another devil.
I disagreed.
If they had observed our relationship more closely, they would have noticed that we mostly kept to ourselves, interacting only when necessary. In truth, we probably tolerated each other out of necessity, recognizing the other as the sole equally intelligent peer in our age group.
It was an agreement, not a truce.
The childish rivalry we began with gradually transformed into fierce competition, with Tom unable to forgive my superior knowledge, and me struggling to maintain my adult pride in the face of a genius.
Ironically, Tom viewed me as his sole rival. I had quickly mastered reading and writing, astonishing even the adults. Tom despised losing to anyone or anything.
To him, being second was as unacceptable as being last.
My only advantage was my adult mind and my thirst for knowledge from my previous life. However, I knew this edge would eventually vanish as Tom matured.
His exceptional intelligence and composure for his age were somewhat frightening, considering his youth. If one disregarded his exterior, he could easily be mistaken for an adult in both mindset and demeanor.
Our mature behavior set us apart in the orphanage, turning us into loners. I acted like an adult, while he felt and behaved so superior that he deemed others unworthy of his presence.
Unsurprisingly, we kept each other company and staved off the orphanage's loneliness. But we were by no means friends.
Merely convenient roommates.