Uncle Marc Came

{Elira}

~**^**~

My fingers trembled slightly from drawing and redrawing my new signature.

Zenon didn't speak much, only instructing: "Again."

So, I did. Over and over until the plain sheet in front of me looked like a crowded field of messy letters and strokes that slowly began to resemble something unique—something mine.

At last, when the paper was nearly covered, Zenon's cold voice broke the quiet.

"Never forget this signature," he said, his tone sharp, as though it was a command, not advice.

I swallowed and nodded quickly.

"And practice it," he added, "a few times every day until it becomes instinct."

"Yes, sir," I murmured, lowering my gaze to the ink-stained page.

Without another word, he reached forward, lifted the sheet from the desk, and set it aside. Then, he passed the forms back to me—the ones I was meant to complete.

"Finish them," he said.