Miracles occur, if you care to call those spasmodic tricks of radiance miracles.
It seems odd, really. To be celebrating a birthday when by all rights, he shouldn't be able to do so. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be alive.
But he is. And he's sitting on the beach, flipping slowly through the children's book Donald gave him. It's simple, but it's good to keep up with his vocabulary. Melchior wanted to do something for Moritz's birthday, he knows that. The thing is, Moritz isn't sure he wants him to.
Ah well, he supposes there's nothing he can do to help it. He might as well make the best of it. Or something, anyway.
Typist: Moritz Stiefel is sixteen years old. Any and all welcome, whether he's met them or not. RT or ST welcome as well.
But he is. And he's sitting on the beach, flipping slowly through the children's book Donald gave him. It's simple, but it's good to keep up with his vocabulary. Melchior wanted to do something for Moritz's birthday, he knows that. The thing is, Moritz isn't sure he wants him to.
Ah well, he supposes there's nothing he can do to help it. He might as well make the best of it. Or something, anyway.
Typist: Moritz Stiefel is sixteen years old. Any and all welcome, whether he's met them or not. RT or ST welcome as well.