watched Tom from across the room, pretending to tie my shoes while my mind ran circles around him. The boy was a paradox—calm, measured, brilliant beyond his years. Already, I could sense the sparks of ambition, the hunger for power buried beneath his polite demeanor. Most children would never notice, but I could feel it in every calculated movement he made.
"Elaine," he said suddenly, voice quiet but precise. "You're… different from the others."
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Different how?" My lips curved into a small, teasing smile.
He hesitated, as though measuring every word. "Smart. Confident. You don't seem… afraid."
I chuckled softly. "Fear is for those who have no control." I let the words hang between us, feeling the weight of them settle into his mind. Already, I could see his curiosity spike, the gears in that brilliant head turning.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You don't belong here, do you? Not really. I can tell."
I shrugged, leaning back slightly against the wall. "Maybe. But I've learned to make the most of it. You?"
Tom's dark eyes glittered. "I've always known I was meant for more. But most people… they don't understand." His tone was sharp, but I caught the hint of a smile he didn't allow himself to show.
I leaned in, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper. "Then maybe we should stop trying to be what they want us to be. What if we… rewrote the rules?"
His eyes widened fractionally, just enough for me to notice. "Rewrite the rules…?"
I let out a soft laugh. "Yes. Think about it. We're trapped in this orphanage, forced to wait for a world that will never recognize our talent. But we don't have to wait. We can make our own way. Together, perhaps."
He studied me, silent, evaluating. And in that pause, I could feel the seed of something growing—a bond, a plan, an alliance. A partnership of ambition.
"I…" he began, then paused. His lips pressed into a thin line. "You're not like the other children here. I think… I could trust you."
I smiled warmly, letting a flicker of affection show, though it was calculated. "Good. Because I intend to be around a long time, Tom. A very long time. And I think… immortality is far more enjoyable with someone clever at your side."
He tilted his head, confusion and intrigue battling across his features. "Immortality? What do you mean?"
I waved my hand casually, as if dismissing the idea. "Just… a figure of speech. But think of it this way—when the world finally notices us, we won't be alone."
For the first time, he allowed himself a small, genuine smile. Not arrogant. Not cruel. But curious, eager, calculating—the very spark of a mind capable of greatness.
I knew then: shaping him wouldn't be difficult. Not with my abilities, my knowledge, and the little nudges I could give. He was brilliant. Ambitious. And I… could bend him toward my own design without breaking him.
I stood, brushing dust from my clothes, and offered my hand. "Friends?"
He glanced at it, then slowly took it. His grip was firm, precise, controlled. "Friends."
And in that quiet orphanage room, two serpents silently coiled together, plotting futures far larger than the walls around them.