Chapter 12

Day 3

As she watched him secretly while sitting on the settee, the suspicion that plagued her yesterday had completely diminished. At first, she wondered if he had any malicious intention to her, but he didn't make the slightest advance to her afterward. Not a bit, not at all. After thinking about it again, she realized that the idea was ludicrous.

He never leered at her like some men often did. He didn't try to come close to her or touch her, not at all. He never showed any sign of admiration. Most men tended to be gentle toward her, they spoke softly to her, they helped her immediately when she was in need, they gave what she asked for quite easily, but seemingly, this one was an exception. She thought his interest to her was purely for the purpose of the art project. She wondered what kind of woman could allure him. He looked cold and detached, heartless. Except for anger, she couldn't imagine another emotion would ever move him. She doubted he ever had experienced another emotion.

Suddenly, he raised his gaze from the canvas. She made it just in time to pretend to look at the mantelpiece behind him.

"The elf's face is half-finished now, though I still have to work on some details. Do you want to take a look?" He asked.

For a moment, she remained still. Though she preferred to stay in a proper distance from him, it would be impolite to deny his invitation. She rose up and walked toward him reluctantly, feeling some curious alertness that always assailed her everytime she was being too close to him. She stopped, turning to stand next to him and looked at the painting. In a second, she was captivated by the beauty.

"I can't believe it is me..." She stared at the image in fascination.

"You don't like it?" He watched her with a sidelong glance.

"No... It's just..... It's very beautiful, it's not like me. No, don't get it wrong, the detail is perfectly accurate, I mean, it's many times more amazing. I look... otherworldly here..." Her eyes lingered on the canvas, sparkling with pure admiration.

Otherworldly, it was a perfect word to define her beauty. Actually, he felt he could never be good enough to capture perfectly the beauty she possessed. In fact, for him the image depicted in the canvas was many times more amazing in real.

"It's brilliant. You're very talented."

Despite the boost of his pride, he replied nonchalantly.

"Many people can paint as well. You just haven't seen enough."

She lingered her gaze on the canvas again.

"I visited some art galleries when in London and yes, there are many who can paint, but only a little who can make a painting like yours. It's like they have souls and mysteries, it's more than just shapes and colors in light and shades, there are depths, there are something underlying beneath..."

Just like him, there was something about him that provokingly intriguing.

"I wonder what it feels like to have such a gift." She said rather musingly.

"What gift?"

"To have the talent, the ability to make something beautiful, like a song, a poem, or a painting like this. Something that can touch the soul of the beholder, and make them feel beauty... I wish I could, unfortunately, I don't have any artistic talent."

"There must be something you're good at."

She shook her head, smiling at the thought.

"My music skill is pathetic. I can't even read the simplest musical notation. My drawing skill are just a little better. My father changed my tutors dozens of times, yet no significant progress was ever made."

"Many girls are not interested in other than dresses and fancy things. What makes you care about creating a song or a painting?"

"I really appreciate the beauty comes from all sorts of art. A good artwork can be very moving, like a beautiful song or a poem or a painting. It makes me feel like... going through an emotional experience, it evokes a deep feeling inside, I feel very much in awe. It fills me with wonder and amazement."

She was still absorbed in contemplating the beautiful painting, completely absentminded that she was speaking to him profoundly.

"Are you interested to learn how to paint?"

"Of course, perhaps someday I will have a chance."

"I think I can teach you some basic steps."

"No!" She replied quickly with widened eyes, astounded with the unexpected suggestion.

"I mean... I don't want to bother you..."

She corrected in a less offensive tone.

"Not at all." He left the stool and walked past her toward the door. Ava watched him in consternation as he pushed the door and went outside.

"Where are you going?"

"Find an object for you."

She stood and came after him in confusion. It wasn't something that she expected. She didn't want it, but she didn't know what to do. As she watched him walking with a firm step in front of her, a realization came upon her. When he said something, it was hardly a suggestion, it was a command.

She followed him to the meadow near the lake, where purple prairie clover jutting out of the knee-high yellow grasses. He surveyed the area thoroughly as he walked to the midst of the field. A rich variety of fall wildflowers spread over the land. He bent down and picked some wild blue aster.

"They will be perfect for a beginner."

He passed the wildflowers to her and she took them. She never saw wild asters in that color before. In her hometown, they were mostly in white and yellow.

"So beautiful, I've never seen this shades of blue." She looked at the flowers in awe.

"What's your favorite color?" He asked.

"Blue, definitely." She ran a fingertip along a delicate petal, and he couldn't help recalling her doing the same thing to his hand not so long ago.

"Which blue do you like best?"

She looked up at him while thinking of the answer, and unintentionally held captive by his eyes. She tried to think of a dozen shades of blue. There were many, so many, many lovely blues, but none of them could be compared to the blue she was staring into right now.

"I think ..."

I think it's the blue of your eyes.

The thought just flew out of her mind. It struck her by surprise. Was she going insane? How could she ever think like that? She stepped back abruptly and looked down to the flowers in her hand.

"I think these flowers have the most beautiful blue color."

He tried to guess what she was thinking about. Although she plainly admired the blue of the flowers, her answer didn't feel right.

"Then you just found your favorite blue at the moment."

"Yes." She turned and walked away, suddenly couldn't meet his eyes.

"No, it was the sky. But it turns out I like this color more."

What was happening to her? She felt silly and awkward and warm all over. She shook her head slightly to get rid of the strange emotion and tried to steady herself. She heard the grass made a soft, rustling sound as he stepped behind her.

Ashton followed her in silence, watching her back as she moved across the field. His interest for her found an echo on her feelings. The signs were brief yet unmistakable. In split second her pupils dilated, almost smothering the green of her orbs, and she licked her lips, not in a seductive way, rather unconsciously. But as much as she was attracted to him, she was denying her own desire. She maintained her distance from him and wrenched away everytime he was near. It seemed like she had yet to perceive her own feelings.

After a moment, Ava considered that she was still feeling unsound. No way. She couldn't have a crush on him, not a bit, not at all. He was a man whose good looks excited an immature romantic feelings in women. That was the only sensible explanation. Since the first time he caught her eye, she got hooked. It was pure girlish admiration. She never took it seriously, never thinking about it afterward. But in the past she just looked at him from a distance, or met him sometimes in a brief, terrifying encounter. Now that she was alone with him for a long time, his nearness affected her like a fever.

She stopped a few steps away from the door and stood aside, letting him to enter first. When he walked past her, from sideway glance he saw her looking down as though she was afraid to see him. This was getting more and more interesting, he thought as he closed the door after she walked in. She was going to be engagingly awkward. And he was going to deliberately enjoy it.

The intimacy of being alone with him behind closed door suddenly became overwhelming. Somehow the atmosphere grew thicker. She was sensitively aware of his presence, every footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, every rustle of her dress caused by every little movement.

He took another easel and positioned it next to his. She watched as he set down a new canvas on the easel, took another chair and removed the stool in front of the new canvas. Then he took a crystal vase on the mantelpiece and pour water from the jug on the table. She held her breath when he approached her.

"The flowers."

He gestured with his eyes, tickled by amusement at her alerting expression. She put the flowers in the vase, feeling embarrassed by her awkwardness. The stupid feeling meant nothing, she said to herself. It was nothing at all. The uneasiness she was feeling now was a clear evidence. It was breathtaking to look at him from a far, unseen place. It was breathtaking to have a short, intriguing moment with him. But to be close to him, for a long time, it was breathtaking too, as much as uncomfortable. He placed the vase on the chair near the new canvas.

"You can start now."

She sat reluctantly on the stool, taking the paintbrush and the palette he handed to her.

"Begin with the center part first."

When she mixed the color on the palette, he could see her hand trembling faintly.

Ava tried to focus on the flowers in the vase, but she could hardly concentrate. She was intensely aware that he was standing close behind her, watching her every move. She could feel his heat as surely as if he was touching her. This painting lesson was a bad idea. She couldn't believe she was the one who started it.

At first, Ashton thought he would be perversely pleased to be causing her nervousness, but somehow this girl never failed to tickle his conscience. And she didn't even know it. He moved away from her to the table, pretending to have a drink. She watched him leave in relief. She swept the brush on the canvas, making a circle shape. Her hand moved clumsily and unintentionally she dropped the paintbrush on the floor.

"Sorry!" She bent down to take the paintbrush and saw the wooden floor was stained with a smear of yellow ink. She put down the paintbrush on the easel and wiped the dirt with her palm.

"What are you doing? Leave it!"

She heard his voice filled with surprise.

"It's easier to clean up when it has yet to dry..." She rubbed the surface with the heel of her hand, trying to remove some difficult dirt.

"Do you have a cloth..."

She halted midsentence as she felt his hand grasped her arm and strongly pulled her up. Now he was standing very close to her.

"You don't need to do this."

"But I cannot just leave it, who is going to clean it up?"

"I'll send a servant tomorrow."

Send a servant just to clean a little dirt in one spot? That's extremely inefficient.

He released his grasp and walked to the commode, pulling out a drawer to take a small cloth. He dampened it with water from the jug before offering it to her.

"Clean your hand."

Ava took the cloth and cleaned her hand. The sight of the sticky substance on the floor still disturbed her. If somebody stepped on it, the dirt would travel across the path. She bent down again and wiped the greasy residue with the cloth. Evidently the damp cloth was a more effective tool, the dirt vanished easily.

"I've told you to stop, just leave it."

He pulled her up again.

"Let me finish it, I'm almost done."

"For God sake, stop doing it. It doesn't fit you!" He snapped.

"Doesn't fit me?" She echoed his words in confusion.

"It's a servant's job. A lower servant's job, I might add."

"It's just a simple task, I can finish it in a second..."

"Sit down and continue with the painting."

He cut in with an uncompromising tone.

She obeyed immediately, sitting back on the stool and starting to brush again. After a momentary silence, she said quietly.

"You forget that I'm a peasant now."

"You forget that your father is a bloody duke."

"You forget that I am an illegitimate child so it doesn't matter."

She added after a short pause.

"Besides, I'm used to do sort of things now..."

"What? Rubbing the floor?"

"Yes, and worse. I clean up a henhouse too, it's always full of chicken waste."

He frowned at the imaginings.

"That's disgusting. You can't be serious."

"It's true."

"Nonsense. You bring your maid with you."

"And you think I just sit down and do nothing while she does all the work?"

"Of course, that's what a maid is for."

"She's no longer a maid of mine. I cannot afford her salary. In fact, the house that I live in is her property. I have nothing. Practically I'm relying on her kindness."

He absorbed the information for some time.

"You're fortunate to have such a loyal maid."

"I consider her a loyal friend indeed."

"However, are you sure you want to live like this for the rest of your life?"

She glanced at him and said carefully.

"I daresay you never wipe a muck for once in your life."

"Never."

Except for his own body parts, personal belongings and painting tools, he never wiped or rubbed anything, not even his personal desk, let alone the floor. There were always servants to do it. He watched her again. It was hard to imagine she did all the servant's job.

A strand of hair fell on her face, she tucked the hair back behind her ear, her fingertips brushed her cheek lightly.

"You made your face dirty." He commented.

"What?"

He gestured, pointing a spot on his own face to show her.

"There's a little stain on your right cheek."

She put the paintbrush and rubbed her cheek to locate the stain.

"You made it worse, your hand is awfully dirty."

When she looked down on her hand, she just considered her fingers were smeared with inks. She used the back of her hand to wipe the ink stains off.

"Stop, now you're smudging the dirt all over."

Frustrated and embarrassed, she looked around to find the damp cloth. She took it and brought it to her face. Before the material touched her skin, suddenly it was snatched away from her. She looked up and found him towering above her.

"What are you doing? You just wiped the floor with this. How could you ever think to use it on your face?"

"But I need to clean it as soon as possible. It would be more difficult to remove if it had dried up..."

She ceased talking and watched with round eyed surprise as he cupped her cheek and tilted her head so she was looking straight at his eyes now. He brushed the dirt with his thumb while he lifted another hand and rested his fingers on her chin to hold the angle. Her mouth gaped open in bewilderment. She froze in her seat, entirely still.

"You're silly, I will not let you wipe this dirt with that filthy cloth, and don't even think to clean it with the dress you're wearing. It's difficult to find a suitable property..."

She barely listened what he said. She stopped dead in tracks. Time stood still and there was nothing but his face, his touch, his warmth, and his particular scent tinged with the smell of oil paints. The feeling of his fingers against her bare skin. They were warm and rougher than they looked. And his scent surrounded her. The delicious smell and touch of him blended into an intoxicating sensation. There was a spark flashing in his eyes and his pupil expanded, she had been told that it was a significant hint of attraction. His finger slowed and trailed down, rubbing the corner of her mouth softly.

"Holy hell..."

He whispered a curse. Her heart skipped a beat. In a brief moment, an insane thought occurred to her. He was going to bend down and kiss her. She caught her breath.

"I made it even worse, now you look a mess."

He released her and stepped back, staring regretfully at the result of his unavailing help on her face. It took a moment for her to perceive that she had got all the wrong idea. Dear God. She thought he was going to kiss her! Suddenly she felt like she was going to burst out laughing.

"I don't see anything funny about that."

He scowled, and it only fueled her amusement. If only he knew what was on her mind.

"I'm sorry, I feel silly." She bit back a helpless grin.

"You don't need to say sorry and you look even sillier than you feel. You're going to be a spectacle on your way home."

Her eyes widened at his caustic remarks.

"I wonder whose fault is that?"

He stared at the smudged colorful chaos in her cheek. From the look in her face, she didn't care about it overmuch. She looked greatly amused and her smile was contagious, affecting him like sunshine on his face, its warmth crept into his soul.

"Mine, without the slightest intention. But I gather somehow you find it entertaining."

"At the very least. But I appreciate your good intention very much."

She smiled unconsciously and glanced at him. He looked equally amused. A gleam of delight flashed in his eyes and sparkled the atmosphere like some invisible fairy dust. It took several moments for her to recognize that they were exchanging remarks in a friendly manner. And in the meantime, she had forgotten to be awkward.

*****

Day 4

It seemed like his hostility toward her reduced gradually day by day. Today when they had a break, surprisingly he suggested her to have a look at his artwork collection. Thankfully it wasn't as uncomfortable as the painting lesson or the drink together idea. She could preserve a comfortable distance from him and avoid eye-contact indistinctly. However, opposed to the awkwardness that always tormented her at his closeness, sometimes she found herself completely at ease with him.

"You can make abstract painting."

She said in surprise as she found a painting dominated by midnight blue color in rough oil painting textured. Splash of bright colors in varying size splattered over the dark colored background. He was standing two feet away from her, sipping a glass of wine.

"Just trying. What is it in your perception?"

She stared at the painting for a long while before answering.

"A galaxy of stars."

It was a picture of the stars indeed, but he liked the way she arranged the words to define it.

"Lucky guess. What do you think the meaning underlying beneath it?"

"I don't know... perhaps it wants to say that the night comes for a reason. Without the darkness, the stars have no meaning. They cannot shine in the daylight."

Now he was impressed.

"Impressive. How did you come with that interpretation?"

"My tutor asked me to read a book every weekend in various topics. The following week, we would discuss the content of the book. I read about art interpretation once, and I think the book would say something like that about this painting."

"You had a private tutor?"

"Yes, many private tutors, actually. I had different tutor for each subject."

"What subject did you learn?"

"Anything. History, math, ethics, French, dancing, playing piano and harpsichord, horse riding."

"You're educated no less than a lady."

"But I'll never be one of them."

"I would think you were if I met you in different situation."

She didn't expect he would reply kindly. Surprised, she raised her gaze and met his eyes. In the fireglow, his complexion looked warm and radiant. The long black eyelashes framed his eyes like a thick dark liquid. A gentle smile played over his face and for the first time, his eyes looked warm and sincere. That smile, together with those eyes was a deadly combination. She swallowed, suddenly felt her heart racing and her palm damp. When he was smiling like this, when he was in lighthearted mood, he could be somewhat companionable, and terribly attractive. Though he was a dreadful man, he wasn't all bad. She got a feeling, if she got to know him...

God!

What was she thinking about? It was bad. Very bad. She couldn't be attracted to him. He wasn't just mean, arrogant and volatile. He was a grouchy, irritable, spoilt aristocrat who couldn't stand a little herbal smell and never wiped a thing in his life. He was the worst of them all. And among other things, he was Magnus' cousin and greatest rival. She could never forget it. It would be an ultimate betrayal.

She didn't want him to be companionable and friendly like this. She preferred the old, regular him who always abused her at every turn. She preferred him to irritate her, hurt her till her heart bleeding than troubled her with his enchanting smile and brought turmoil in her mind like this.

She thought of something to say, anything, to break the warm, queer atmosphere that suddenly smothered them in comfort and ease. She didn't want to feel comfortable and easy around him.

"Did you ever paint your mother?"

It surely worked because the warm ambience suddenly turned into a dragging silence before he finally answered.

"Of course"

"I've seen almost all of your paintings, but I have yet to find her picture."

He tore his gaze away and turned aside.

"It's not here. I've kept it hidden in an unseen place."

"Why?"

Suddenly she was tempted by curiosity and forgot about keeping the safe distance.

"I don't want to remember anything about her again, ever."

"I don't understand why you want to get rid of all the memories of your mother."

"Because she had gone forever and will never come back, no matter how many times I remembered her."

No matter how much I missed her.

So it was better to forget it and bury all the memories in the bottom of his soul. It couldn't bring pain to him again after all these years.

In the first days after his mother's death, a severe pain always pervaded his entire being everytime he saw something that reminded him of her. So he ordered to remove anything related to her out of his sight.

"Do you still feel sad everytime you remember her?"

"No. I never think of her again."

He stared blankly to the dancing flames in the fireplace.

"I'm glad that time eventually turned everything to a fading memory. Now I could hardly remember her face."

"But it shouldn't be that way, the memories should be something you treasure, not something you throw away like some filth."

At this point, she was utterly unaware that she was crossing the line again, and so was he.

"You know nothing about this feeling.

What do you know about loss?"

"I know how painful it is to lose someone you love, and I know a great deal more. You know very well it just happened to me not very long time ago."

He cast a sharp glance at her, and for some curious reasons, she chose to avoid the sensitive issue that involved his cousin.

"I mean... with my family. For all my life I have never been far from my parents and now I've been away from them for a long while. Perhaps I will never see them again for the rest of my life. Isn't it almost like we're separated by death?"

"No, not even close. You still have every chance to see them again in the future. There are many possibilities."

She fell silent, acknowledging the truth in his words.

"You are right. It's not even close. I've never experienced such darkness in my life. But I think your mother would like you to remember her." She said a bit timidly.

"Not with pain and sorrow, but with love."

How could it be possible?

To think of his mother was to bring back a soul wrenching pain. He fought a glimpse of the past that suddenly flashed in his mind, and failed. He watched her coffin lowered to the cold grave in choked desolation, leaving him to carry on with his life in anguished misery and loneliness. There were times in the past when he really loathed sunrise, for it just marked the coming of another interminably long day. Hours and hours of grief and despair to endure. And helpless regret.

How could a person with a heart of gold like her was destined to meet her death that way, he would never understand. He never had one last look at her dead body in the coffin. He had been warned that it was better for him not to see. They said that the shot had blown her head very badly and it was difficult to fix the appearance. He resisted a sickening feeling that suddenly roiled his stomach. She deserved a much better life as much as a much better way to die. Her marriage to his father had ruined her life, and he hated the indisputable fact that he was the product of the ill-fated marriage, he was a part of her terrible fate. And no matter how hard he tried to redeem it, nothing could ever change it.

"I'd rather not feel that ever again. What's the point of recalling someone who no longer exists and feeling the pain all over again?"

Cold fury frosted his voice.

"But I can't imagine how could you ever think to eliminate someone who meant so much to you from your mind forever. I think I would be sad if someone I really love decided to destroy every good and beautiful memory about me. Even if I knew I could never meet my family again, I would always cherish my memories with them."

He sent her a lethal glare.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"Sorry, I just think memories are too precious to forget. You should hold it to your heart."

"And I think you should hold your tongue. The last bloody thing I want is your mushy opinion on my personal matters. Henceforth, you better keep your thoughts to yourself."

That was surely hurt, after sharing a moment of friendliness, like suddenly being squirted with a gush of cold water after bathing in the warm sunlight.

"I know it right from the start, I forewarned you it's better if I don't talk to you."

"Silent."

He said with a dark throb in his voice. She flinched at the vicious gleam in his eyes, feeling a sudden wave of fear, but she wouldn't let him know. He shot a cold glare as she walked back to the settee with a scowl. Blast her! He would think of a perfect punishment for this corny little wench. Who did she think she was to meddle with his thing and invite the demons of his past. How dare she!

They spent the remainder of the hours in a bleak silence. This time she looked at him with a whole different feeling. Every warm emotion that had just grown for him dwindled and turned to a mixture of pity and distaste. The traumatic loss had caused him a permanent damage. What kind of person was he to dismiss the memories of his own mother? A woman who had risked her very own life to bear him, a woman who loved him like no one could ever do. He was totally inhuman.

On the other hand, she felt a sort of relief that he had returned to his normal version. He was far more dangerous being kind and companionable than being mean and sarcastic. Three more days to go, she thought. She couldn't imagine how delighted she would be when the last day finally came.

******

The wind howled and the night owls cried from a distance as he walked silently along the dark corridor in the middle of the night. A little light from the candlestick in his hand illuminating his way. The walls threw back the faint echoes of his footsteps. He followed the dark passage until he reached a door.

The clattering sounds of the keys piercing the silence as he unlocked the door and stepped in. Inside the room were many oak chests used for storage. He moved across the room and stopped in front of a huge, carved chest on the table in the corner of the room. He set the candlestick on the table. A moment later, the top of the chest opened with a creaking sound. He took out a canvas from inside it.

Ashton braced himself to look at the painting before him and felt a catch of breath in his chest at the very first sight of it. An image of a lovely woman smiling at him from inside the canvas. Her eyes kind and loving, her smile genuinely sweet. She was as lovely as he remembered.

Seeing the picture summoned up the long lost memories of her once again. The good times they had, the happy moments, blasted all over again. He never knew how he still had them all, he never thought about it anymore, but they came back so clearly as if they just happened not so long ago. He blinked away a drop of tears that blurred his eyes. It took all of his self possession not to break down and begin to weep. Another thing inside the chest caught his eye. A small velvet box in beige color.

His heart started to pound madly in his chest. It was a birthday gift from his mother. She died just a few days before his thirteenth birthday, and a servant found the gift inside a drawer in her bedchamber. At the time, he felt terribly heartsick when he saw it, he left the gift unopened. He just couldn't face another wave of devastation.

A whirlwind of emotions welled up in his throat. Suddenly he was caught on a whim to turn away and walk out of this room, leaving all the painful memories once again and never looked back. They were where they should be, locked behind the door in the darkest, farthest corner in his house, and in his mind as well. But something held him still. He took out the box, his hand trembling a bit when he opened the top cover.

There was a necklace with a gold, oval-shaped locket, along with a letter in a fine envelope. He took the locket and found his mother's portrait inside. A locket hiding portrait as a birthday gift, his mother must have a reason. His gaze drifted to the letter. Unexpectedly unlocking some pieces of his past wasn't as dreadful as he imagined. But to open the letter he never knew existed, to read the last message from his mother... He wasn't prepared for this. It was too much to bear. What would he find in this letter? What if everything inside would just bring back another heartbreaking, gut-wrenching pain? He couldn't bear to fall to pieces all over again. For a brief moment, he considered to leave it as it was. His mother had died more than a decade ago, and there was nothing he could do about it. Either he read this letter or not wouldn't change a thing.

But this was the first and last letter his mother had ever written to him. It must be something she needed to say to him, something important for her, or for him to know. It could be her final wish, and if it was, he would do anything to make it. He took the letter before he lost his courage, and opened the folded paper quickly. The beautiful handwriting looked blurry in the dim light and he narrowed his eyes as he skimmed through each sentence.

To My Beloved Son,

As you're growing up, you might come to understand many things, while others might have confused you. I know what you think and what you feel even when you don't tell me. I know sooner or later the unusual situation we are living in might come to afflict you, but I want you to know, I will never regret every single thing that happened to me, because it had brought you to my life.

In my life I've been blessed with so many things, but nothing compares with you. I want you to know that you are loved and cherished, no matter what. Everytime I look at you, I know that it's worth everything that I've been through. If only I could turn back time, I would do exactly the same all over again.

This gift is a little reminder that I'm with you, even if I'm far away. There will come times when I'm no longer by your side, but know that my love will always be with you as long as I live and long after I'm but a memory. Whenever we are apart, I wish you will hold me in your heart and remember me with a smile, because there's nothing I want more than your happiness.

I love you, forever and for always.

Your Loving Mother.

"Heaven must have needed an angel so the Lord took you away from me..."

He heard himself whispering. He took the locket and placed it in his palm. A strong emotion he had not felt in years was gripping him once again, but this time he let it in. He allowed himself to feel it. A drop of tear fell on the face beneath the glass.

"I wish you're happy now, Mother."

He brushed the damp surface with his finger, wiping the teardrop away.

"I miss you so much."