1925. It was a late, stormy night, and Alastor was walking down the streets of New Orleans, holding his umbrella while the faint sound of water splashed with every step he took, he coat occasionally blowing through the wind. He didn’t mind the storms, in fact, he found them thrilling. Heavy rain poured, thunder clapped, lightning flashed, yet he was walking down the dark streets, humming a few lively jazz tunes to himself.

As he walked through the streets however, he suddenly heard the sounds of what sounded liked a child crying.

“…what is that sound?”

Alarmed, he quickly began searching around for the sound, determined to find out where it was. The more he walked, the louder it became, until he turned a corner and noticed an alleyway, where the cries were definitely audible. He walked down the alleyway, the cries getting louder with every step he took. When he looked to his side in the alleyway, he suddenly saw a box that was soaking wet, and saw little feet.

“Oh my heavens!”

When he ran over and opened the box, he kneeled down and saw you, a young child, trying to push yourself in the box to avoid getting wet, but you were soaked to the bone and looked like you hadn’t eaten in a while. His heart nearly broke when he saw your condition and your red, puffy eyes from crying and clenching a teddy bear that was ripped apart from one of its arms and legs.

“Oh my god! Little child, are you okay…?! You poor little thing… how did you get here?!”