Alger's P.O.V
I am but a blank page. I searched for a name, a childhood, a single face to hold onto, but I found only a vast, terrifying 'nothing.' My first breath was tasted in a gutter, surrounded by the debris of a city I don't recognise. The night felt heavy, punctuated by the sharp clinking of glass and the cries of prowling animals. As I stumbled out of the darkness, the air grew cold with voices—half-heard secrets and low whistles that clung to my heels like a second shadow. I don't know where I am, but I know I am being watched.
I wander the streets like a ghost, searching for an anchor I can't name. My legs move with a purpose my mind doesn't possess, guided by a strange, wordless instinct. Around me, the crowd parts like a wound; I see the flash of their teeth as they sneer, the weight of their disgusted glares pressing against my skin. Hunger is a dull roar in my gut, and my senses are beginning to fray at the edges, turning the world into a blur of grey.
Then, a sharp, silver jingle—a bell. The scent hits me next: golden, yeasty, and warm. Freshly baked bread. I follow the fragrance until the cold air gives way to a sudden, blooming heat. The last customer is fading into the night, leaving behind a silence that finally feels safe. It's warm here. It's quiet. For the first time, the whispers stop.
The golden light of the bakery blinded me for a moment, washing away the grime of the alley. 'Welcome to Mama K's bakery!' a voice called out—bright, melodic, and startlingly cheerful. Standing behind the counter was a young woman with hair the colour of polished moonlight. Despite her youthful face, her silver-grey eyes held a weight, a sense of someone who had seen centuries pass in a heartbeat. I tried to take a step toward her, but the warmth of the room felt too heavy. The world tilted, the silver-haired girl blurred into a streak of light, and the floor rushed up to meet me. Darkness claimed me before I even felt the impact.