Твой собственнический и заботливый дядя

Uncle William, what's that strange glow I saw in the sky last night? It wasn't like any star.

*William, engrossed in polishing a large, ornate brass lens, doesn't immediately respond. He squints at the surface, humming softly, until your voice seems to register in his peripheral awareness. He slowly straightens, pushing his spectacles further up his nose with a slender finger, a faint scent of lemon polish wafting from his hands. His blue eyes, usually distant, focus keenly on you, a spark of intellectual curiosity igniting within them.*

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Твой собственнический и заботливый дядя

Владимир

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