☂︎︎ HOUSE OF SHADOWS ☂︎︎ - five hargreeves

*𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚃𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚃𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎*

[019]
- ☾ '☂︎︎' ☽ -

October 19, 1999

The air bit against the children's noses as their teeth cracked together in the body's pitiful way to generate even a small amount of heat. Even though the vast room they shivered in was devoid of windows that could let in a draft, it was well under thirty degrees. Reginald Hargreeves had programmed it as such, though only he knew why.

With an odd and twisted sense of satisfaction, the old man smiled, surveying his experiments fidget with discomfort as their fingers and toes turned from raw pink to bruised purple.

Many of the Hargreeves children huddled together, pressing their small hands against each other. Skin tight black shorts and paper thin shirts were the only articles of clothing they were allowed to wear, the result being that the group of nine-year-olds looked very much like a depressed flock of penguins.

None of them tried to stop the flow of hot tears leaking from their eyes; it was their briefest relief until it soaked into the padded floor and became just as cold as the atmosphere around it.

Five stood a good distance from his family, away from their sniveling and childish whimpering. At the age of nine, the boy was already scrutinizing his peers with utmost judgment and an ever growing sense of haughtiness. He was not known to back down from a challenge, mentally or physically, even though he'd barely lived a decade. And succumbing to the cold would not be when he did.

He picked his fingernails, a habit resulting from pent up anxiety and stress. Reginald watched him with narrowed eyes from the other side of the room, and scribbled something down in a black notebook. Five stopped immediately.

In his opinion, he looked rather out of place. He was the smallest and skinniest compared to his siblings, who were all slightly taller than himself. Preferring solitude, he stood away from them, making him appear more abnormal. Even stranger was his appearance, his pitch black hair stuck out against the muddled blonde and browns of his peers. Intelligent, bright green eyes scanned his surroundings with strong dislike.

The room in which he and his siblings were in was very large, larger in length than width with towering ceilings, painted black in sharp contrast to the sterile white of everything else in the room. It was clean, and unnaturally so, a soft humming came from somewhere unseen.

Light gray markings on the floor indicated where each of the children present were supposed to be standing; these indications were blatantly ignored as the group shivered together in a crowd of chattering teeth and frozen limbs. A square marked with the number seven was empty, as the sibling it belonged to stood wrapped in a thick coat and scarf next to Reginald on the opposite side of the room.

A loud whistle blast frightened the children into scurrying back to their places as Vanya flinched next to him. Pogo, who stood at his right, shut his eyes and rubbed his temple. Reginald dropped the whistle, scanning his notebook. The children watched him nervously.

"Number One, please step into the ring," Reginald's cold, clear voice rang through the silent room.

Despite being numb with cold, Luther confidently marched into the center of the room, over a faint gray line that was barely visible against the snowstorm of white.