"Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree tops. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall..."
He saw her sitting there with her doll, oblivious to the world around her and not caring for anything except the porcelain doll she had arrived at the orphanage with. He liked this girl, though he wasn't sure why. She was smart, of course, but she didn't care for the ever-present pressure that all the orphans faced when they came to Wammy's House, so she ignored it. Or, at least, that's what he had concluded.
She didn't talk to the other children. Not to say she was antisocial, or rude, or something of that nature, but her utmost attention went into her doll. The pretty china figurine with the curly blonde hair and shiny glass blue eyes. She was a lot like the doll. At thirteen, Beyond Birthday didn't know much, or anything, really, about love, but he was sure that she loved that doll. Fragile and innocent. Easy to break, he thought.
He preferred to watch her from a distance; scrunched up in a corner where his eyes could wander the room. Some of the kids might've thought it strange, but he reasoned that they all had their quirks, and it was easier to watch her from the dark corner.
He watched as her name floated and swirled above her head, and the strange numbers that he'd always been able to read since the day he was born reached his sight. The day she would die. The thought brought an odd grin to his face, twisting into something more sinister.
Big [eye color] eyes finally gazed up at him, unperturbed and innocent. Filled with the childhood he'd never had.
Yes, he liked this girl.
"And down will come baby, cradle and all."