Between the shadows, his only companion was the gnawing cold of night.
An ever-present dampness lingered over him, drenching the dark alley in his own pity and decay. His hands reached up, gripping and compressing his skull in a pitiful attempt to remember what he had forgotten.
In this sorrowful condition, that was all but impossible. He hadn't forgotten something so terrifyingly minor like his location or name. He had forgotten everything about himself. Everything he thought he knew.
He recognized the discrepancies in his memory, but was ultimately unable to fix them. All he knew when looking out unto the dark streets of stone and wood — fostering rats and simple carts, degrading homes and extinguished torches — was the simple fact that he knew he didn't belong.
He was somewhere completely terrifyingly new.
Even when he looked at his hands, he couldn't help but feel foreign to his own body. All he could do was peer at his clothes and skin — fragments of a life that he had yet never knew of.
The thought alone caused him to curl into a ball, not hesitating to begin exhausting what little energy he had left. Repeatedly he smashed his head against his own hands. Repeatedly he'd seeth, only for it to get replaced by anger, to then be replaced by a dreadful feeling of being lost.
At the time, there was nothing else he felt like he could do. As far as he was concerned, his life was already over.
It was only when a man appeared at the mouth of the alley did he bother to stabilize himself.
Despite this, the man seemed to pay no interest in the boy. Even through the darkness, his face was more of a haunting mask than a human with emotion. It was more as if the feelings were lines carved into a wood sculpture — otherwise, he appeared lifeless and dead.
You could make out an oddly complex web of sentiment on him. He appeared an odd mix of anger yet sorrow. Sympathy yet disgust. He looked at the boy as if he were less than human. As if he were an animal.
Sensing the lack of compassion, the boy paid no heed of the man. He turned back, refusing to make eye contact, and rather glanced directly at the mossy wall in front of him.
While he didn't care for the man, and he knew he didn't care for him, it still felt like a punch to the gut. Something about discovering his life was more pointless than he thought was enough to drown himself in pity.
Much to his surprise, however, the man finally gave a bright malicious grin as he looked at the boy.
Not wasting a second, he kneeled before him — large, burly hands feeling of wealth and power gripping onto his shoulder.
"You there, boy." He spoke, hand reaching out and lifting the boy's chin to look him in his drowning eyes. "My oh my. What happened to you?"
The stranger let out just enough false compassion to warrant a response. "I don't... remember..." He murmured softly, a wave of discomfort showering over him.
"Amnesia? How... interesting. You might just be perfect after all."
The man raised himself, reaching out his hand with the same sense of acceptance and warmth the boy so desperately wanted.
"I want you to come with me. I can help you. I can make you a star. Only if you're completely under my thumb."
Now, the boy could feel the cold more than ever. As the night grew to enter its zenith, he couldn't help but be won over by the prospect of a home. For him to make a life out of what he was left with.
He stretched out his hand, interlocking it with the man as he gently lifted him up. "I'll... go with you."
The man only let out a devious smile.
"Perfect."