Prophetrizzler67
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He feels very foolish, very selfish for wanting to go back. Perhaps it’s just the idea that he was needed. That Matthew and Alfred were young then, and their little feet would
scamper on the tiled floor. Those tiles were brick red, with details of wheat carved into the edges. The masonry was gorgeous. Francis wishes he’d kept a piece of them. He closes
his eyes to recall one evening in the late spring, a memory he draws back to more often than he would like to admit, and he puts himself in the front yard, and he can almost feel
the sunwarmed grass tickling at his calves. Alfred had jumped from the carriage before anyone could get a word in and run to his brother, and the squeals of joy were pure and
excited.
Bookmarked by Prophetrizzler67
31 Mar 2026