The world around Milo only became clear when he was four years old. 

That day, he was at home, sitting on the table with a collection of pencils, scribbling on a sheet of paper. Most of his family was away to some important meeting, so he was just waiting for his big sister to get home from school so they could play. He had asked his mother, but she said she was waiting for somebody to show up. 

Milo squinted at the sheet in front of him. It became a little more clear, but his head started hurting. 

Hmpf. 

Suddenly, he heard someone run down the stairs - that was dangerous! And yet, he watched as his mother ran towards the door. That was odd, there had been no doorbell, or knock. Yet his mother opened the door and started laughing more happily than he had ever heard. A part of him wanted to see what was making her so happy, but he was nervous - strangers scared him. 

Moments later, he noticed his mother walk in, holding a strangers hand. He was very tall and seemed to make his mother happy. She looked at Milo, who had sunk on his chair to hide as much as he could without going under the table. 

“Milo, little breeze, come say hello”. 

Milo shook his head as a soft wind filled the room. 

“I see why you call him that” the man added. He hadn’t stopped looking at Milo since he walked in. That was weird. The man approached him and knelt next to the table, at his level. He picked up the sheets of paper Milo had scribbled on. “You like drawing?” 

Milo shrugged. “Mother is trying to teach me but I’m not very good at it.”


“I’m sure you will be one day. Do you mind if I draw with you?” 

Milo looked at his mother who was looking at them very happily. So, them talking was a good thing, right? He looked at the man and nodded, sliding down the bench to allow him to sit next to him. 

Soon enough, the three of them were drawing together, Milo doing his best to follow along. “I can’t see the little things you add,” he groaned, frustrated, dropping his pencil. The man laughed and put something on Milos face. 

Suddenly, he could see everything. Lines were as clean and sharp as the edges of the sheets he was drawing on. He could see the small markings that he never saw before in his mothers art. His mothers cloudy hair had a lot more curls than he ever saw, and the man in their house had many lines scratched across his face. Milo grabbed the thing on his face and took it off. Everything went back to normal. He spent the next moments putting the… things… back on his face and taking them off. 

“Mother, is this how you see everything?” 

She nodded. “I’ll make sure the jewelers gets some glasses made for you, okay?” she looked at the man. “I suspected he may need some but nobody here wears any, so I was never sure.” 

The man took the glasses back. Milo’s curiosity about him spiked then. 

He asked question upon question. What was his favorite thing to do, his favorite color, if he had tattoos like his family, what was his favorite fairytale… 

The three of them spoke until they noticed the sun was setting. 

“I have to get going, darling” the man - Rowan - took his mothers hand. “I’ll try to come back soon, I promise” he turned back to Milo. “Can I hug you? Would that be okay?” 

Milo nodded and stretched his arms up, letting him pick him up for a tight hug. “You’re squishing me!” Milo shrieked with a giggle. 

The man was shaking - maybe he was cold? “I’m sorry, Milo” he said, “You’re just so squishable.” 

Milo looked at the lines on his face and his hair the color of a copper piece. He reached up to it - everyone in his family had frizzy hair, not flat hair. This mans hair was a lot like his, only orange. 

That was weird. 

He noticed his mother lean her head on Rowans shoulder. “I wish things were always like this. I’m sorry you’re missing Norah...” she said. 

Always like what? 

Before he could figure it out, both his mother and Rowan kissed his cheeks at the same time. Milo giggled and wiped his cheeks. The man handed him back to his mother, and started going to the door again. He hugged them both once, and whispered something in his mothers ear. Together, they watched him walk away, through the side gate. 

His mother was also shaking, but it wasn’t even cold outside. 

Confused about the day he had, Milo dropped his head on his mothers shoulder, as she held him more and more tightly… 

Milo gasped awake, sitting up in his bed. He had forgotten about that memory… He rubbed his face and put on his glasses, before shaking Corym awake.

“Hmmm whats wrong?” 

“I think I remember my father...”