Next year it's his turn, though. [ He thumbs in the direction of their cook without bothering to look. It's a mental thing: he always knows where his other self is. ]
[ Next year. He said that without thinking, but now it's weird. He doesn't expect to be here that long -- but it doesn't have to be here, he supposes. And if he's still with her next Christmas in this body, he can wiggle out of dressing up again. Good idea. ]
I scatter them in time and space - Post a comment
A message to lead myself here