{🔥} laying by a pond, touching the surface of the water… Hugo….

We could speak at length of dreams and visions— the things my mind has conjured in fever-induced hazes are oft too disturbing to recount, but they sit with me always, digging a pit in my stomach. . . . . . . Have you ever considered what life would be like were you a worm?

If anyone so much as inconveniences you, it is always correct to crush them underneath your boot.

I suppose I could do my work outside today. . . the wind isn’t too harsh, and the sun isn’t too bright. Perhaps I’ll sit in the garden. I’ll ask Sir Wolt to make me a pot of tea, too.

Father—! [ He smiles! It’s an immediate reaction, slipping past his mask of stony indifference. It doesn’t last long, though, as he eventually settles back to his usual look. ] I could never ask that of you, Father. You have far too much work to do— it is not worth the trouble.

Me.

[ ahem. ]

I am Roy’s child.

. . . [ Peering over to the bridal banner. . . Shaking his head. ] None of them.

My father raised me on his own until his untimely death. I’ve met these women in passing, but none of them are my mother. I apologize for the disappointing outcome, I suppose.

They can’t know my complex mom lore

I still make Sir Wolt hold many bows. . . He sighs longingly when I do.