The Devil's Prelude

The muffled hum of the city outside was Lucas's first sound of the morning. Sitting by the window of his small room, he watched the bustling streets below.

Queens never stopped moving, and this corner of New York City was no different. Yellow taxis honked as they weaved through traffic, the sidewalks overflowed with people in a hurry––buisness suits, messenger bags, coffee cups in hand.

Across the street, a line of kids climbed onto a bright yellow school bus, laughing and shouting as it pulled away into the chaos of the day.

Lucas leaned his head against the glass, staring at the scene. He didn't envy the kids going to school, nor did he feel drawn to the lives of the adults rushing to their offices. He felt… detached, like he was watching a world that had nothing to do with him.

The orphanage was quiet this early, most of the kids still shuffling out of their rooms or arguing over whose turn it was for the bathroom. With a soft sigh, Lucas turned away from the window. He moved to the small dresser by the corner of his room, grabbing a plain black hoodie and dark jeans. His shoes were scuffed and old, but they worked well enough. After dressing, he paused at the door to his room, his hand resting on the doorknob.

He wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, but staying cooped up all day wasn't an option either. With a breath, he opened the door.

The hallway was already alive with noise. Kids of all ages lingered by their doors or walked in groups to the main hall. The moment Lucas stepped out, the chatter died down. Heads turned, and eyes locked onto him.

It was always the same.

The stares weren't curious or friendly—they were filled with disdain, judgment. Some kids openly glared, others whispered behind their hands. A younger boy tugged on the arm of an older girl, pointing directly at Lucas's forehead. She quickly turned the boy away, shaking her head, but not before shooting Lucas a wary look.

Lucas kept his face blank, his expression neutral. He didn't say anything; he never did. He walked past the crowd, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket, ignoring the murmurs that followed him.

"That's him," someone whispered.

"Stay away from him," another voice hissed. "He's… different."

"He's cursed," an older boy muttered to a younger one. "Did you see his eyes? And that thing in his head? He's the devil's reincarnate. My friend said she saw it glow one night."

Lucas heard every word but didn't react. He had grown used to this—the whispers, the stories, the stares. They clung to him like shadows wherever he went. Even when there was silence, he could feel the weight of their judgment.

In the dining hall, Lucas grabbed a tray of breakfast: cold toast, watery eggs, and an apple. He didn't bother sitting with anyone. He carried his food back to his room and shut the door behind him. The lock clicked softly, shutting out the world, and Lucas slid down to the floor, sitting cross-legged as he ate.

He didn't think about much while eating. It was easier that way, letting his mind go blank. If he let his thoughts wander too far, they'd eventually circle back to the same place—the diamond, the dreams, the blood.

He finished his meal and set the tray aside, leaning back against the wall. For a moment, he thought he might have some peace. But peace never lasted long here.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall so hard it rattled the frame. Lucas flinched as three boys strode into the room, their presence loud and obnoxious even without words.

"Well, well," said Derek, the self-appointed leader of the trio. He was tall for his age, with a cocky smirk and a sharp, mocking voice. "If it isn't the devil himself."

Lucas didn't bother looking up. "What do you want?"

"What do we want?" Derek echoed, mockingly clutching his chest. "Why, Lucas, we just wanted to check on you. You know, make sure you're… fitting in."

The other two boys—Jeff and Marcus—snickered. They stood on either side of Derek, flanking him like hyenas.

Lucas sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "Leave me alone, Derek."

"Aw, don't be like that," Derek sneered. He stepped closer, looming over Lucas. "We're just trying to help you. After all, you must be lonely, with no friends and all. No one wants to hang out with a freak like you."

The word "freak" hit like a slap, but Lucas's expression didn't change. He'd heard it all before.

Derek grabbed Lucas by the arm, yanking him to his feet. Lucas winced but didn't fight back. He knew better than to escalate things.

"Let's take a look at you," Derek said, dragging Lucas toward the mirror by the dresser. "Come on, don't be shy. You should see what everyone's so scared of."

Jeff and Marcus laughed as Derek shoved Lucas in front of the mirror. Lucas caught his reflection—his melanin skin gleaming faintly in the dim light, his bright blonde hair messy and unkempt, and his eyes… those damned eyes.

Blood red irises with slit-like pupils stared back at him, dragon-like and unnatural. Above them, embedded in his forehead, was the diamond. It shimmered faintly, the deep crimson of its surface seeming to shift like liquid.

"There it is," Derek sneered, pointing at the diamond. "The mark of the devil. No wonder everyone's scared of you. You look like a freaking demon."

"Demon boy," Jeff added with a laugh.

"Bet he's gonna sprout horns any day now," Marcus said, smirking.

"Shut up," Lucas muttered, his voice low.

"What was that?" Derek leaned in close, his face inches from Lucas's. "Did the demon boy just talk back?"

"I said, shut up!" Lucas snapped, jerking away.

But Derek didn't back off. Instead, he shoved Lucas hard, sending him stumbling backward. The other two boys joined in, pushing him between them like a ragdoll.

Lucas tried to fight back, but he was smaller than them, weaker. Their fists landed on his arms, his ribs, his stomach. He gasped, struggling to stay upright, but the blows kept coming until he collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.

The three of them laughed as Lucas lay there, curled up and clutching his aching ribs.

"Have fun, demon boy," Derek said, his voice dripping with mockery. The three of them sauntered out, their laughter echoing down the hall.

Lucas didn't move for a long time. His body hurt, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness he felt inside. He stared at the floor, his breath shallow, his red eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light of the room.

He didn't cry. He never cried.

Instead, he closed his eyes, his mind drifting to the faint strains of the instrument in his dreams, that always seemed to linger just out of reach.