The Devil's Prelude

The sound of a dripping faucet echoed in the empty orphanage bathroom as Lucas splashed cold water on his face. He gripped the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His blood-red eyes stared back, narrowed, unreadable. A thin bruise had started to form along his jaw from Dere's punch earlier, but he barely noticed it.

He reached up and touched the diamond embedded in his forehead, feeling its smooth, cold surface. It wasn't glowing now, but it still hummed faintly beneath his skin like it was alive. Sometimes, Lucas wondered if it was–– the thing lodged in his skull was more than just some cursed relic from his past.

"Freak," a voice said, low and sharp.

Lucas didn't flinch. He turned to see a younger boy standing in the doorway, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. The boy hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, but then he turned and bolted down the hall.

Lucas sighed, wiping his face on his sleeve before heading back to his room.

The orphanage was quieter than usual that afternoon. Most of the kids were downstairs in the common room, crowded around the old television, watching a cartoon rerun. Lucas could hear their laughter as he passed by, but he didn't stop.

On the third floor, away from the noise and chaos, he found his usual spot: a narrow alcove near the storage room, where the light from a high window streamed down in golden rays. Lucas sat down, pulling his knees to his chest.

This was his escape–– a place where the stares and whispers couldn't reach him.

He rubbed his temple, frustrated.

The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts. Lucas tensed, his muscles tightening as he prepared for another round with Travis and his gang.

But it wasn't them.

It was the matron.

"Lucas," she said, his voice clipped. "What are you doing up here?"

"Nothing," he muttered, looking away.

She crossed her arms, her stern gaze boring into him. "You're supposed to be helping clean the dining room. Or did you forget your assigned chores again?"

Lucas stood up slowly, his face impassive. "I'll get to it."

"You'll get to it now," she snapped. "And stop hiding up here. It's creepy, go play or something."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and marched back down the hallway, her heels clicking against the worn floorboards. Lucas watched her go, then sighed and headed towards the dining room.

By the time he finished his chores, the sun had set, casting the orphanage in long shadows. The common room was loud with laughter and chatter, but Lucas avoided it, slipping back upstairs to his room.

He shut the door behind him, locking it with a soft click. The small space was his sanctuary, as he probably couldn't go back upstairs to the third floor––a single bed pushed against the wall, a battered dresser with a missing drawer, and a cracked window that let in the cold Queen air.

Lucas sat on the bed, pulling out a small notebook from under his pillow. It was the only thing he had managed to keep from his parents. The pages were yellowed and covered in faint scrawls he couldn't understand, but he flipped through them anyway, running his fingers over the worn paper.

Sometimes, he thought he could hear their voices when he touched it.

The diamond on his forehead tingled.

Lucas froze.

The sensation was faint at first, like the static of an old television, but it grew stronger and sharper until the room around him seemed to blur. He gripped the notebook tighter, his breathing quickening.

And then, the darkness came.

Lucas stood in a grand hall, its vaulted ceiling stretching endlessly into the shadows. Flickering candles lined the walls, their flames casting eerie patterns on the polished marble floor.

In the center of the room was a raised platform, and on it stood the figure.

Lucas couldn't see its face, but the music it played was undeniable. The melody curled through the air, sharp and haunting, pulling him forward against his will.

The instrument was clearer now, its dark wood gleaming like obsidian. The bow moved with unnatural speed, dragging out notes that seemed to pierce Lucas's chest.

"Come closer," the figure whispered, its voice echoing in the empty hall.

Lucas tried to move, but his feet felt rooted to the ground.

"Take it," the voice commanded.

The violin glowed faintly, its strings pulsing like a heartbeat.

"I––I can't," Lucas said, his voice shaking.

"You must," the figure said. "You belong to it... and it belongs to you."

The music swelled, and Lucas's vision blurred. His forehead burned, the diamond glowing bright red as the sound consumed him.

He woke with a gasp, his hands clutching his bed sheets.

The notebook lay on the floor, its pages fluttering from the draft of the open window.

Lucas's chest heaved as he sat up, his eyes darting around the room.

The dream lingered, its music echoing faintly in his ears.