Prologue
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The rain poured down making an unbearable noise on the attic roof. Small snores could be heard from neighbouring beds.
The atmosphere wasn't suitable for sleeping and so the young boy sat wakeful waiting for something, anything to happen.
In the bitter confinement of the orphanage each child would ration space, some top and tailed while others would set up beds on the floor. Nevertheless, they all stayed away from one boy, who could sit for hours on end reading. The boy who never spoke.
He spoke so little no one orphan knew his name. He was known as 'that boy' but Ambrose didn't care because he liked it alone, to sit up browsing a novel until the moon shone bright. He loved to listen to the rain pounding on the drains and the wind blowing through pipes that lay rouge on the path.
Ambrose was sat on his bed nose deep in a book, no longer a part of reality. the fact that nobody cared about what he did made it easy to stock up on books from the library.
He kept his stash under his bed safe from any younger child. He could hear a click and the lights dimmed.
This was his alarm. When the street lights turned off he went to bed and exactly 5 minutes before they turned back on he would wake up.
This meant that unlike everybody else he could always get to the kitchen first. He always had fried egg on toast, with the egg not too hard but not too runny and the toast would almost still be bread.
He would then place bowls and spoons along with milk and cereal on the table for the little ones. They believed it to be the breakfast fairy.
The owners of the orphanage didn't care for the children thus leading to things such as Santa being impossible to believe in and so small things like the breakfast fairy made people happy, because people didn't know who set up the breakfast even the older children where lead to believe in it.
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