A lurid alloy of yellow stars, sizes aplenty, donned the ceiling of the parchment. It left no space for the silver miniature crescent moon braced upon the cliff of the page, as if it were attempting to flee from their celestial brethren.

Pronged emerald grass and rich soil soared from the parchment beneath the macabre of an aether above, scarlet critters with spiteful eyes veering into the abyss.

Garlic cringed and spied a figure buried within the grass, a sword ascending above their head. Was that supposedly the child? A memory, perhaps?

He lowered the parchment.

A pair of chestnut eyes twinkling with glee met his own, spittle cascading the corner of the child’s chin. They rocked upon their feet, clenching their little hands brazenly. A prideful grin was carved upon their mouth, pruned mucus bespoiling their nose.

“Gods be good.” He muttered and rested the paper upon the table.

He never was fond of children.

“I drew you!” Said the boy, “Did you see?”

“I presumed it was you.” Garlic retorted and reclined upon the seat, nestling a hand atop his lap.

“No!” The boy lept and snatched the parchment, pointing to the figure with a finger violently. “See, Sir? That is you.”

Garlic’s nose scrunched as he scrutinised the grotesque creature. If the brows were tamed and if the figure wielded another blade, he would have concurred. The figure was mien to that old bastard of his Lord Father. “That looks nothing like me.”

The boy’s shoulders deflated.

(Tbc)