Matheus poked at the neat, round hole over his heart.He could just fit the tip of his index finger inside.Faint bruising surrounded the wound;a sluggish flow of blood staining his ruined shirt.He poked the hole again, wincing at the faint sting.He wondered, if he could find a stick long enough, he couldprod the inside of his heart.He opened his mouth to ask Quin, but one look at his face and Matheus’ lips snapped closed.
“I’m not fixing that for you,” Quin said.”It’s your own fault for being so stupid.”
As a small child,Matheus had a nanny by the name of Brigitte.She had broadshoulders and a stout frame, with a mass of nut-brown hair piled on top of her head. Young Matheus had been very concerned, convinced the weight of her bun would cave in her skull.Brigitte possessed no affinity for children, especially boys, and had the empathy of a toadstool.Matheus hadn’t thought of her for years, but now flashbacks plagued his mind.
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