Prologue

Prologue 

     IT WAS RAINING on the day Harry was born, little pit pats of soothing spring droplets and gentle tics clicking into the air - which made the beautiful melody that would later become a miracle of symphonies.

     When Madeline first laid her eyes on him, the first thought that came to mind was, "odd;" Harry had came to her as a dead infant wrapped in bloody bundles, a deep jagged hole in his little chest where his heart should've been. He looked so weak, so fragile and yet oddly very beautiful, like a porcelain doll frozen in it's magnificence. 

     At first, she had thought about leaving the dead child outside just in case it was some morbid joke pulled by the younger townsfolk. She had also had reasonable suspicions that it was a frame; the woman was well known as an infamous inventor who'd "gone bonkers" - some even say a witch. It was obvious that she'd have enemies that would go after her, but to pull a stunt like this? She had no idea what to do with it. 

     But then again... She took one last cautious glance around her before lifting the dead hunk of meat into her arms and taking him into her mansion. 

     Cruel as it may have sounded, she knew that there was no way she'd allow such a rare opportunity to pass; Madeline had always been on the lookout for human experimentation. Such a shame he wasn't alive...

     "You, my little friend, are going to be put for such good use! Much better than whatever your previous guardians had used you for," she happily said, lifting him up and staring at him with a warm smile as though nothing were wrong. 

     Her eyes made their way to his bloodied chest and she frowned. He would've looked so much better if only those veins weren't popping out of his chest, along with those gray bulged eyes and pale skin. Truly a shame indeed; he needed to be fixed before any experimentation could begin. Madeline immediately set off to work, tossing his dark blue blanket to the floor and setting him on her worktable, stocked up high with books and potions and ingredients from all walks of life. 

     "All right, little one," she slapped on her rubber black gloves and grinned, "Let's get to work."

     After "cleaning" the child, she couldn't help but notice what a true beauty he was, once again bringing up the thought of a porcalin doll. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to turn him into one, make a cute little statue... She shook her head, her short hazel bun swishing side to side. She had too many experiments in mind.

     Besides, it would be a such nuisance to have this child around...alive. Could he be brought to life?

     Not without a heart, no. As she looked at the still child again, she couldn't help but think of his eyes open, life blooming within. Would it really be a probelm to have another living being in her mansion - besides that cat? She stared at him again, something long forgotten blossoming from the dephs of her being.

     She picked him up again and sighed. "You wouldn't be able to go outside," she said. 

     He didn't move.

     "You would also go blind occasionally, considering your eyes are already gray with death."

     He didn't move.

     "If I were to make you a heart, you'd be weak, and very much unstable."

     He didn't move.

     "Tell me, little one, would you still like to live, even with these limits?"

     His unmoving posture was enough; Madeline sighed with a smile and decided that perhaps a odd little child wouldn't be too bad. The world had long ago turned its back to her and left her in the shadows of grief and solitude; and maybe, after all this time it had decided to compensate with an oddity of a child.

     And so, it was on that day, after hours of mechanical machinery being toyed with, electricity buzzing, and of course the usual little explosions, that Madeline Forestor, infamous witch and mad inventor, had created a child unlike anything anyone had ever seen, a slap in the face to life itself;

     A boy with a clockwork heart. Harry. 

     She smiled, hands on her hips as she took in the great pride as a rhythmically ticking noise came from the child in front of her, creating a melody against the rain outside and amongst the millions of cuckoo-clocks and machinery inside, a symphony welcoming the odd little miracle into the world.