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,
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