“I dreamed about him,” said my Master, grabbing my hand. “Last night. I was in the garden. It was night. There were no roses, on the hedges. I looked … everywhere. They were gone. On the edge of the fountain, I sat down. I looked, up. There were no stars. I looked down. There was one. One rose, the flower, in the water. Floating. I reached out. I picked it up. I looked up.
“And there he was. Flying. He was flying. In the night sky. The sky … full of stars. He was smiling. I didn’t—I couldn’t call out to him. I only watched him. Flying. My son.”
He became emotional, my Master. He released my hand. He drew his black handkerchief from his pocket. Rose petals fell to the floor.
He took my hand again. He embraced me. His tears ran down my skin.
“He was smiling.”
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