A day before June 25th, 1778

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Yaaaaaaaawnnnnnghhhhh...

By a stretch of arms, I hear a crackling. It ain't as loud as the rain, or my mouth. Warm tears fall upon the pillow after a huge yawn. Hope I haven't woke nobody else, as if I wanted to be awake... my right arm feels numb, been exposed to cold throught all night. It's still night. The room is dark, but I can't close an eye, even blink. I stare at the dark, like he used to at us while in the crib. I watch that wooden structure for a while, a personal cage rottening like the one who stood inside, yet a place of fond memories, in middle of dreadful screechings and unquiet slumbers. Hungry, roasted, sleepy, stinking... soon we learn that all our problems can't be solved by yelling, but listening to each other. To yell was Jack's way to be listened, and so came the first paradox, of a life full of plenty.

Like, if you stare at the mirror for too long, all you see is a rat. Wear a cloth, stand up, and they see a man. Say your name, the way you say, and they see another man. I see a beautiful lady lying on the other side of bed. An angel, if I wanted, or believed in such. A vole, drooling on her pillow. A girl, engulfed by those white strains. I want to see her face again. Not that I miss it, but I am one of the few whom she lets in. Strange, why me? That's what I ask everyday. Come on, move those strands away... her breath won't do it so. A warm breath, coming out of warmy person, touched by your cold hands. Ugh... I... I can't. Taking the hair out of Lenneth's face is the equivalent of taking her blanket out. Well, if isn't that what you want... No. Of course not. I didn't wanted to wake earlier. To be fair, who wants?

— ...Bort? – then I heard what sounded like my name, pronounced in a poorly way. Shivered for a moment, thinking it was a ghost. A ghost with an onion in the mouth, could only be, but the pale only belonged to that hair – Bart... Oh, Bart. Why are you awake?

— Lenneth – I said, looking at her. So beautiful... a beauty like her should rest – I can't sleep.

— Something bothering you?

— You don't need to.

— What I don't need to? – she said, a bit groggy – I know there's something wrong with you.

— Then why do you ask? – I said, to which Lenneth looked at me with drowsy eyes.

— Bart... – then I realized the indifference of before, hearing that tearful voice. My throat was dry.

— Oh... sorry – I had to say. Lenneth is really trying to understand me, and I treat her as if she understand me a lot – sorry if I was rude.

— That's okay – she looked at me, holding that pillow, hiding that smile. A brief smile – I shouldn't have bothered you..

— No, I am the one who shouldn't have been bothering you, Lenneth. If, at least, I could sleep...

— Why can't you sleep? – she doesn't know, with me bringing only quick corporal expressions that means nothing in place of paced words.

— I... I don't know. I... I just... feel wrong.

— Why do you feel this way? – Lenneth asks, like a child, looking at me with same eyes. I don't deserve these.

— If I could explain...

— Explain the way you want. I might get it.

— And if you don't get these words?

— You aren't even trying – a smirk covered her lips. God, why is she doing this? If that's supposed to motivate me... – come on, Bart. Tell me what's wrong.

— Everything – I said, soon as Lenneth touched me with the left hand, upon my chest, pinching my nipple. I want to take it out, but that would mean I'm refusing her. Refusing help, which ain't my like, much least complain. I looked at her, my eyes telling her to stop, but what she interpreted instead was to keep going. So I took a stare to the ceiling, plain, dull, I kinda see myself in it, more than I did when at the mirror. Geez... I don't like this sort of thing... I really... anyway, is there any use for a male's nipples? Why should I feel something? Oh... yes... it's clear. All clear – that's what it's wrong, my dear. Everything. As a burmecian, I have a plenty of reasons to feel somehow wrong. I mean, look at my hands... I call these hands, but they're claws. All they do is hurt.

— Am I hurting you? – she said, her fingers crawling like ants upon my skin. More like a bird taking a worm out its hole!...

— Ouch!... Lenneth, please – I said, promptly raising my hand, holding it tight against her arm. My way to say 'stop'. She smiles.

— You liked it, didn't you? – that doesn't sound like Lenneth. I mean, given it's night, the sinister hour – how do you feel?

— If that was supposed to make me feel any better... didn't helped that much – I said, being sincere, trying to close my eyes – Not that I like you, Lenneth. I really do, but this ain't my game. It's... it's complicated, you know. I let you in, though I don't like it, but you do. We have things in common, as well. I mean, a lot, but most the time, we are poles apart. Sure, you like to take action, it's a thing I admire you, and the whole of your family. Like, I didn't expected to ever make ammends with – and while I was speaking, I saw her tail swing madly, out the blanket. The more I kept talking, more that tail swayed. For Lenneth, it was the equivalent of pinching my nipple, I guess. Had to ask – uh... why are you looking at me like this?

— You're cute – she said, with hands upon the tummy, and llooking at me with those eyes... I want to puke. Yes, that would make me feel clean, someway

— Why do you think it so? I am kinda ugly.

— Hehe... silly you – there's something that keeps me from avoiding looking at that girl. Don't know, maybe the depth in her purple eyes – I like the way you think deep.

— Deep, you say? I don't think that deep. I just say whatever it comes out my mind.

— And I am one of the few who can take it all.

— Do you? – I had my doubts.

— Uh huh. Most the time, you have nothing to say but stare to a wall in contemplation – by contemplation, Lenneth means silence – when I feel bored, I do these things, but unlike me, you do it because you think a lot.

— I think I am boring – I said, as Lenneth let a chuckle out, quick as a sigh.

— No, please... you're a nice person, Bart. May have your worries, but ain't boring. It's like telling a child that all her questions are stupid. And you are here to answer then, as well make them. That's why Jack likes your company a lot. This way, you're being honest with yourself.

— But there isn't only myself. There are others...

— And you acknowledge their existence very well. I would say you have a strong sense of moral, a thing in need at these times of indecency. You hate when someone else gets hurt, and hold that pain within yourself. That's not health, I know, but you don't care. You're immesurably cute...

— Why do you say these things? Whenever there's action, all I do is follow, obey others. I don't even have a fixed job, just side hustles – I said, as Lenneth stood upon me, looking down. Even in the dark, those eyes can be seem.

— Oh, come on, Bart... these have nothing to do with your worries. In fact, I think you should feel glad for helping a lot of people.

— A lot of them, passing by – then I holded her arms with same hands fliched by the spikes of an orange tree. And that hair, white like one of those tiny lemon petals, falling upon my head the closer that face gets of mine...

— Don't you think I feel same? People only acknowledge my being because I wear myself as a Dragoon Knight. And you... you see me like I am – she said, about to kiss me. I had nowhere to go, or any way I could avoid that. It seemed like an eternity, I felt both good and bad, clean and dirty... she layed upon my skinny chest, hearing my heartbeat.

— I don't know if you feel same, or ever felt something like this, Lenneth, but... why do we dream? I mean, in dreams, everything looks better. Nothing is wrong, or right. It's just ideas faraway. Why came up with a better reality in mind instead of making it with our bare hands? It is as if everything we need is here, but we always hope for it to become better. And that's all we seem to have... high hopes.

— So you feel unsatistified for not being able to accomplish a goal, despite doing a lot?

— At least, that's what you understood, because I really can't – I kept staring at the ceiling, feeling her touch.

— It's because you think a lot. Geez... A lot bothers you, but you shouldn't feel this way. Think less, I would say. But this way, the charm I hold for you would be gone. Still, I would love you the way you are.

— And how do you see me? 'Cute' ain't the right word.

— It is, for me.

— I still don't get it – I really didn't, as she just smiles at me.

— Heh... Sure, cute ain't enough to describe you as a whole, but it's what I came up with the first time I saw you.

— The first time?

— Not the 'you' I stared on our first meeting, but the 'you' I saw in all our moments. Even now, I see it...

— What do you see? – I asked, to which Lenneth stood upon me, facing me with a 'really?' kind of look.

— Oh, Bart... don't you see? Or is it only me who can see in this dark?

— You're a Dragoon, after all.

— Being a Dragoon doesn't mean that I can do a lot of things.

— Not by yourself.

— Now you're beginning to understand – she approached, stared at my eyes – thinking about it, I saw myself in you too. Not only my reflection in your eyes, but me – and I remember that day, those days after training... Lenneth was so tired, dishearten, but I always brought her a smile, besides company. But, as much as I brought the best for her, I also brought the worst.

— You mean your weakness – for some reason, I said it. Maybe I had no reason.

— Bart! – she frowned, dissapointed, but knew that I did it on purpose – It's the other way round. I didn't choose you because I felt pity. Neither you brought me a friend shoulder for same. Maybe, we may have felt a bit of it for each other, but it ain't all. Though, there are things only the weak can feel... But weakness does not make them low. Is that how you feel? The worst of you...

— Maybe – I said. Wasn't tired – it's because we are weak that we can be kind to each other, after all. That is where our humanity comes from. Everyone has weaknesses. We struggle between which to shown and which to hide. Even you did at first, Lenneth. By showing it, we drew to each other...

— And we grew strong – I wondered for a while if this was all but a dream. Our words didn't matched to each other, Lenneth spoke as if she was me, but looking to her, feeling her beyond touch. Perhaps this ain't a dream – the body may get tired, but that's not the case of a mind. Since mind and body are connected, both need to rest. Don't you think?

— Yeah, I'm really trying – I said, a bit of her hair fell upon my mouth. I have no complains, except for – but these birds...

— Birds?

— Yes, the birds... I can't sleep with them singing.

— Birds singing at three AM? – we stared at the blurred window, which offered light and rain, the chirps of tiny birds could be heard. Is it only me?

— You listen to them as well, do you?

— I do. Funny how they sing for a land without sun.

— It's in hopes to bring a chant before the kids wake up –

— I know a tune we could sing... – when Lenneth said that, I felt the whole world going away. Her hair wrapped around my neck... Choking, drowning our bodies on a white sea.

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♫David Sylvian - Home♫

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July 02, 1778

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

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It's useless to learn.

Mistakes are made, again and again... And once again, I feel queeeasy. Apples. MUNCH! MUNCH! MUNCH! CHOMP!... GULP... G-GULP... BURP! Sorry. We two are hungry, don't you agree? Heh... why I'm smiling like this ? To were? Who am I talking to? Can you, at least, hear me? Hey! Can you? There's no other way you can answer me, besides what happened this morning, am I right? Maybe. Thanks to you, I hurled the dinner of last night, or something... I don't know what it truly was that mass, that piece threw away from my body from before, but certainly... disgusting. That's the word I could find to say. There's other words, but you'll learn them when you'll grown up, like me, your mother. Mother? You may be asking what is a mother. My head keeps forgetting things, but I can't forget such a thing as mother. Well, besides mother, I can't forget the smell of anything.

I can sense it more now. The smell of the apples, the smell of the smell of the rain coming from the window, alike the smell of this morning like many. I'll show you what is a morning within the day you'll open the eyes. I wonder which color they got in there... but let's talk about what a mother is. Fine. Who is there to take care of you? Even there, inside? And when you'll come outside, who will embrace your little body with the arms? Don't worry, because it'll be me, your mother. They, like me, exist to carry you in there and here. I live here, and you may also live and learn. I guess you're sleeping by now, even if you didn't learned such from myself.

This pillow you rest... I can feel another scent. Besides a mother, there is also a father. He ain't here at the moment. Don't worry. As soon as you are within mother, there's no need to worry about the world outside. It's cold in there, but soon you'll grew up some fur as you live inside this house, and the warm you seek inside here will be the same, I know it will be. Do you believe in me? Truth be told, for your first breath, your throat will burn, but you won't be alone. I'll be there, like now. An 'I' is less than 'we', but better than 'nobody'. Too many words? Don't bother. I also have a bad memory, though there are some things I can't forget. Wouldn't even try to. I'll hold you on the same way I keep you comfortably there, with these hands of mine. See? Those are 'hands'. Some uses their hands given to many things, good and bad ones. I won't lend a hand to you, I promise. Gifts can be brought by same hands.

To hold you with these hands will be surely a good thing, one of the best things they could attain. Yes, there are other mothers, not only me. Some are luck to have their husbands near them. I envy the fisherman's wife more than she envied me. Wonder why? Because I was a Dragoon Knight. Yes, I wore a red coat, holded a spear, jumped and fought against dragons and those who were disturbing this kingdom. Now I only wear green, holds nothing but what was once an apple with a hand, can't jump, and I can only fight for your safety. Besides hands, I also share of claws. They won't be brought to you, but for you. Inside and outside, as you stay with me, I'll stay with you, even if you leave, there and here.

Whew... today I slept with no underwear, dreaming of butterflies. Then, when I woke up, I took a bath with my pants on. COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!... AAARGH! Oh, don't be afraid. That was just the dust, who fled from my carpet into my nose, and only. I didn't intended to scream, to awake you if you were sleeping. I'm sorry, but I keep forgeting you're the only one who can hear me and my thoughts, after all. Can't understand, but at least, I seem to know you can hear what I hear. Many can do the same as you, yet they sometimes don't, and a few less than sometimes they do something about the message I gave to them. You can't do something, besides listen to me. You are within me, far more than anyone could reach, or I ever could.

How did you came to be there? Heh... I won't lie. Nah, the chocobo didn't brought you to a dish I ate. Guess that Bart will be a better choice to answer you that. He was responsible for it, as much as I. Didn't expected you to appear. I felt no headaches, as many mothers felt. Neither Theresa, your aunt, felt them. Five times in a row. I'll be awaiting for you, patiently. You'll came into my arms and I'll hold you so tightly that nothing will harm you. What, me? Don't think such a thing. I won't harm you. Someday, there'll be no more space remaining to yours there, but in this world there is a lot of space for you, more than the space of these arms and the one inside this house. I can listen to you too, even if you can't talk with your mouth. I'll taught you how to talk with your tongue later as you grow there. Well, what did I said? Oh, yes. You can talk to me, as I can to you. I know you do.

When I ate these apples, and now that I ate another, I see you're eating them as well. If you don't, then I'll teach you, someday, when you'll come into my arms. Didn't I said it before, did I? Before is before, and should remain like. Oh well, nothing lasts only at what came before. You'll grow, and I hope Bart come here to see you. Didn't even heard that you exist. Don't worry, because he'll do. There is a nail for each finger of mine. Five on this hand, and five on this other; ten nails on both hands, and counting up the ones of my feet, there's twenty nails. When you'll born, there'll be no nails grew like mine into your hands and feet, thought, if you await like I am awaiting you, they will grown up like mine. When I hold you, these nails are not here to harm you, but those who'll try so. Bart is using his both claws and spear to protect us, understand? Well, not even I can understand. Not that your father isn't that stiffy, neither he is that skinny...

I'll be there for you, as much as you'll be there for me. Like now. Heard it? This is the beat of my heart. You also have a heart too, and you may share it with someone. Not this heart, but another who is called by same name. A Heart, to be exactly. Sure, you don't understand what am I talking about, don't you? It's understandable. I didn't learned of this until I had gotten nine of age, when... Well, let's just say your mother bled. Bled? yes. This is a world of pain, to be fair with you. They hurt you, you bled, you cry, they do more, you bled more, cry more... I might be scaring you by this far, but even I didn't told you how far some got into this. Maybe it's not the time to say it so, but as I said before, these nails aren't just there to be showed. They need some action; thought, that would inflict the code of honour of the Dragoon Knights.

Not only mother, but those who do the same job as mother also follow it. It's something called by tradition, my dear. Customs, traditions, the law... you'll learn those. You need to learn some. Thought some things can be decided by yourself, like if you want your hair... no, even the hair is a tradition here. Women like to comb hair. Men like to touch hair. At least, Bart used to. Your father, like many, went away from home. He didn't went far from this house because he abandoned us, or because he stopped to think or care about us. Remember when I told you about the pain of this world? So this war is pain, and pain is war. Your father may be struggling to protect us by now, from the enemy who wants to take us down.

But that ain't war, my dear. It's the presage of something called by termination. When there's a war to happen or already happening, you feel pain, like those who went to the fight, but when it comes the termination, you have no time to feel pain, because you're away from this world. No, not again where you are, thought you may be a bit right about such. You will live with a body, but when you're gone, your body may perish, but your soul will depart, and part of it will be with the remaining ones who lived, who cared about you. Who else to protect our legacy besides those who knew about you, the things you had done for good? Thought, you may follow the path of evil, but that sure won't happen, with this mother you got, and this mother who will get such a child as you into her same arms.

Now, did I've said about it before? Maybe I did. Sorry, my dear. I've been forgetting lately. Not paying that much of attention. Don't worry, because I won't forget you. Mother... I didn't forget about mine. Hungry? So do I. Let's eat. Whew... Mother was the one who taught me to feel this good. This hair, this snout, this tail, these nails, these eyes, these lips, these cheeks, these arms, these legs, these hips, these clothes... and you there, the only one who stood with me. There is also Jack, on his sleep. I should had been on mine, but now that I am hungry... Better than keep sewing these clothes. They all want to see what lies beneath them, thought clothes carry on a meaning to each one. To be recognized as a Dragoon Knight by wearing that coat, and a helmet, a coat of arms, holding a spear, and now that a bump showed on this belly, I am recognized as nothing but a mom, my dear.

The cloth you and the others wore shows beyond yourself who you are, in a position lower or higher to be compared to anyone. Some who are born without them still achieve such higher positions, as we stand in the lowest or the one they calls by middle, a between that is a easy way found to say 'low' in other words, the words higher than us. Mother I am glad that I had a conversation with yours, before you were gone. As for Jack... I didn't woke him up yet, thought he's able to do it alone. I see him walking downstairs, and he doesn't see me. Or even talk to me. Listen, he does, but why? Maybe it is because he still sees with me a piece of a mother, the piece of a ruler. Someone above, not only on height. Or weight, as he might be thinking, but that's just a suspicion. My son may not be the best, but when it comes to obey, he does.

I know. The one who truly ruled above all the house was father. But I am not a father of his, and never would I be. Even if I had such will like his, I can't. Jack is the kind of son that doesn't seem to obey or care if his mother dissapeared. This mother who stands there. But he must obey, not because of me, but because of his father. He learned such more with the father of his, my husband, the one who should had been his mother instead. Now that you felt asleep, guess nothing of this bothers you. A Dragoon doesn't feel bothered at all, because they hold of such power on their hands, and coat. The only power that I do hold, thought... is the one I have been granted ever since I learned to talk. Interactions, I mean.

— Good morning, Jack – I said, and I only heard my voice. Sure, this morning ain't the best, but he could have said something. Don't force nothing to come out of the boy, please. Well, wasn't that the intention? Sure, but things must happen naturally. Thought it always rains on Burmecia, and we agreed for it be natural. Jack opens the cabinet, in search of something.

— Hey, m-Lennie... – Jack ate a world, didn't he? No, that may be just my imagination. At least, he spoke with me. On the back of mine, but he spoke something. I'm all ears – Where is the bread?

— The bread? – was it already gone? I recall I had a lot... a week ago. Why do am I keep forgetting? The basic food, as bread?

— Yeah, the bread. There is none, Lennie.

— Oh, I'm sorry. Is bread the only food in fault, Jack? – I asked to my son. I wanted to see how he reacted when I said his name. Nothing. Just the same silence. To be adressed by the name of his, the name his mother used to call him by such. I still remember those moments, but it seems Jack don't. Too young to remember. I was young, too. Still I am, but with this skin peeling off, and hair falling like flocks, feets swollen like bee sting...

— Hey! – Jack shouted. I looked at him, but then he said, with a look of the eye, that he meant to shout so I could hear his. Did he spoke with me when I was thinking? I don't seem to recall it. But now, I'm paying attention to Jack, and what's about to come next from the mouth of his – Lennie... you're so tall. Why can't you see the top?

— Okay. I'll see if there's something you might want to – then I raised from the chair I was sitting, enjoying of the apples, and so I came to the cabinet upwards, where Jack couldn't reach. Maybe he could, if I wasn't there. I check if there is something he may like, or not, but it may be something for breakfast, at least. He woke up now, so I must bring him something light to eat. No, no one eats pure carnations, only the desperate one, and he doesn't sound like this way, but still he's hungry. When we wake up, we don't seem to be able to eat, and still we are kept hungry.

— What do you have here, mo-lasses, right?

— No. There it is... oats.

— Geez! Oats! That's food for the aged, Lennie.

— Am I, perhaps, an aged? – I felt, somehow, offended by the tone Jack said 'aged', as if I was one. I'm only twenty-one years old, can't he see? Well, it seems he can't. I crossed both arms, and looked throught his eyes with mine, when I asked. I demanded an answer, which came on the way of Jack, and there's no surprises for it.

— Yes – Jack said – a bit – he completed. Don't worry about this. He's just a child. Besides, anyone can see this white hair of mine and say wherever they want, but aged? That was the first time. They, those from my family, always told me I was older than my siblings, even when I was a child, like Jack. A child. You had been one too, don't you? And now you are the one awaiting for such. How tables turn... but still, some things are kept. I was once a child, Not so reckless as I recall. But frightned by the look... yes, I was. The look they, both mother and father carried upon their faces, each time I commited a mistake. Father had of the same look each day, whereas mother had her own look, and a bit of father's one.

— Lennie... – Jack looked at me. He didn't ate the oats on the bowl. My arms are no more kept crossed. There isn't a frown on my head, just a face hard to tell if I am sore, or pretending to – do you have milk? – then he looked back to his bowl. It became hard to crouch, feel the bones belonging to both knees instead of a soft spot. As for Jack, who wanted to walk, and how easy it was to crawl, and to get milk without asking.

— Yes – there is a bit of milk in the gallon. I fill in a cup for Jack, who takes it and drop it all inside the bowl of oats. Then he began to ate it. Remember when Jack refused to eat vegetables unless a bit of salt were poured on them? I remember many things, and I don't know if it's the same for Jack. Some may be forgotten by good, like all the times your son have gotten lices. And how he hated baths. Cold ones.

— Thanks – after grating me, I can only hear Jack's mouth. These sounds used to bother me, because I always heard them. Now that he's feeling some joy, someone in this house who's feeling something else... There is no more milk, I see. And bread as well. Two who went to my list.

I'm worried to Jack, and so he does to me. How many times did he said a 'thanks' before? Like that? When I taught him how to be gentle, and little Jack was traveling miles away, wondering if a Dragoon threw out of a ceiling could stand on its feet before falling on the ground. I told him so, then I felt that scent of a well-made crib, a goodnight kiss upon his chin, and how these things don't seem to matter that much. But they do. For Jack's skin not get chaffed, he used to crawl around naked on this house. That's what Bart told me, and all I can get is a picture of the scene. On that same day, I refused to tell a thing to Bart. It was better for him not know, but he knows that each time I come back, I get hurt.

Holding captives with their hands. I remember clearly. One of the few things I do remember, as if it happened yesterday. The day before the world went away to another. I have been here before, as well. Sitting on this chair, tired of being still. If I don't go, I'll always be stuck here in this poor little room, with the view of the marbles. I must go. Please don't... and that was the last time I've heard Jack call me by mother. The last chance I gave to his on that day, same one I gave another chance of Jack, and others alike his, to be alive. Instead of the shadow of a wing crossing throught streets near home, my own was there. Unseen, but it was. Now, the only shadow who lies there belongs to another. And what lies within me is living on shadows.

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— Geez... oats. A dish full of them?

— Nah, it was a bowl – why is Dan interested to know more about my breakfast? Because it was prepared by Lennie, of course. He likes her. As for I... I'm unsure. I can't get hungry, and there are some of us who are, or so father used to tell me. He's still telling, even on such a distance.

— And how do you came to eat it?

— I asked for milk – Dan looked at me with that face. Not that kind of milk, you jerk – it was pretty good.

— So, did you've liked the milk, or the oats? – guess that anything prepared by Lennie is worthy for Dan to enjoy. But we're not talking about his life, but mine instead.

— Maybe both. Any news from our daddies?

— None – we didn't came here to be talking about breakfast. Thought, we used to enjoy it with our daddies, adn we didn't even cared about their presence, because they always seemed to be there. My dad was always there, and Lennie... well, she's now there, all the time. I do not even follow her to the market, and look at Dan, who wants to hold more than her hand. I can't stop talking about his, can I?

— Dad sent me a letter – suddenly, Fratley appeared. By sudden, I mean that, well, from where he made an appearance? Fratley just walked towards us, as if he already heard us talking about our daddies. His ears aren't that big,

— Really? – for some reason, I'm interested to hear about what Fratley's dad said to his. Wrote, I mean, but that he thought about writing... Did my dad wanted to write a letter as well? I don't know. Maybe they didn't allowed, or because there is no paper. No paper!? It must be really awful to be a soldier – what did he wrote to you?

— I... I can't remember, exactly. I can't show the card, because it'll get soaked, so...

— Wait... you've brought the letter? Where is it? – I asked, to which Fratley replied pointing to his hat. We went to a place with a shadow lying below out feet. A ceiling other than a tree, and not that dark for us or that kid not being able to read the card. My house, I mean. Dan suggested, so for him to shut up, and for I as well, we went there. Here, I mean. Lennie, we have visits... Well, she ain't here, so we sat on the table. Chairs, not the table. It's clean, of the mess I made before. Lennie's own too. Apple crusher.

— So is that your house? – asked Fratley. Dan asked where Lennie was, to which I replied nothing.

— Yes. So, what this letter says? – the letter lied on the table, as if that was a treasure map. Not that Fratley's dad considered his family a treasure already, far more valuable than gil.

— It says that daddy loves my mom – I asked for a reply, so I got it – he also says that he loves me and my siblings as much as he loves my mom.

— Do you love your mom, Fratley? – don't know why I've asked it.

— Yes, I do.

— Good for you.

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