Words were forming into sentences; sentences were spoken. Robert's company was his own reflection in the windowpane; the only accompanying member of the household aside from his young daughter Lily. While cancelling out the noise of Lily's continuous coughing and sputtering, his reflection momentarily guided his hand gestures before disappearing into the fog like a forgotten mentor. In the duration of his monologue, the cold world Robert could observe through his lethargic eyes seemingly aligned the stars to entice a spark within his being.

What was with this sudden, yet welcoming warmth? Even when retreating from the window and taking a seat in that same wooden chair,...