I see him cross the threshold. Right foot first, then the rest. I see him close the door. He stands still for a moment, back to the door, his lips twisted and his eyes pointing downwards, to the right. Thinking – split up six months! Feeling – spasms of guilt, wrenching tides of shame. Thinking – that’s the least of my worries right now. Feeling - the overwrought tripwires of uncertainty, the misery of apprehension. Don’t be scared little one. Battles are to be fought, not skirted. Yes, come back to me. You are mortal and you are magic. If only you could see. I catch him steel himself and walk down the corridor, towards me. Yes, come unto me little one, I have chosen thee. I like it here. This stuff, formed millennia ago. Spat from the rage of the Earth’s core, cool now. A gift from the divine forces of the universe. Like me. It is ancient. It will endure. Unlike you, little one. Not in the way you think, anyway. Yes, I will return anon.
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