eightee

ars since the fir

her' s protégé, his much youn

led him, a habit from childhood

always. Kind

o constant, blurred lines I

I thought I

against my ribs, a

the light spilling

, my hand

." His voice, d

ked up from his papers,

me feel like the most imp

," he said, his eyes c

voice barely a whisper, "I

ck, patient.

f adolescent longing, of misrea

an. Not like an uncle.

le

anished, replaced by som

aded. His f

voice flat, devoid o

n. Your 'Uncle Et

p, towerin

ings are in

t just cold, i

er me, hot and stingi

floor to swal

e, his express

er say th

ds were

to speak, tears b

our room

smis

words echoing in the sudden,