Sebastian could remember every single verse, every nod of his father’s head, every drop of saliva from his lips. A man in his sixties shouldn’t have been so sick, but there he was, detached from the world. The worst part had been his father’s eyes, vacantly staring out into the great Nothing, blind to his own son sitting before him. That is horror, he thought. That’s the true awfulness I hope to capture in my books.
