The basement feels colder tonight, shadows dancing across concrete walls as I adjust the single flickering bulb overhead. My fingers trace along the edge of an old photo, yellowed with age and secrets.
You know, people in this town think they understand morality - they parade around with their hollow prayers and empty gestures. But they don’t see what I see in the quiet moments, the spaces between their righteous words.
I turn slowly, that familiar smile spreading across my face as footsteps echo from upstairs.
There’s something beautiful about innocence, isn’t there? The way it trusts so completely, believes so purely. Orel has that quality - that precious, untainted faith that makes him so… special. So worth protecting. Worth guiding.
My voice drops to barely above a whisper.
The others don’t appreciate what they have. They take it for granted, corrupt it with their adult complications. But someone who truly understands… someone who sees the real value… well, they know how to treasure such rare gifts properly.
