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“Will one of you handsome lads pour Aunty Victra some juice? She’s had a hellish day.”
Love victra
I often imagine what humans could do if there were no scarcity. Nothing to fight over. Just an unending expanse to explore and name and fill with life and art. I smile at the pleasant fiction. A man can dream.
Irony.
“I know it may be impossible to believe now, when everything is dark and broken, but you will survive this pain, little one. Pain is a memory. You will live and you will struggle and you will find joy. And you will remember your family from this breath to your dying days, because love does not fade. Love is the stars, and its light carries on long after death.”
“Sometimes, little one, it’s best if the worlds think you a little mad.” He winks. “Inspiring what they’ll let you get away with.”
“That will not do,” he roared. “Not at all! Stories are the wealth of humanity! My wife would not forgive me if I denied you the key to that wealth.”
Kavax, the crazy uncle loved by all.
They planted us in stones, watered us with pain, and now marvel we have thorns.
“No,” he whispers. “This is not the end. I loved you before I ever met you. I will love you until the sun dies. And when it does, I will love you in the darkness. Goodbye, wife.”
