Horace sighed, the three year old girl that sat in the grass in front of him was the perfect picture of her mother. The black hair, pecan nose, and blue eyes, always made him think of his dead wife. He looked at her, sitting next to her older brother, she was picking daisies and he was playing with his black eyepatch. And his heart began to hurt as he looked down at the sealed letter in his hands. A letter from the government, a call to arms, he would have to leave them in a weeks time.
“Daddy,” said a five year old Viana, “why do you leave all the time?”
“Because you're too pretty for his eyes to handle.” Said her eight year old brother Hestia.
“Then how are you able to live with me?” Said Viana confused.
“because,” explained her brother, “I only have one eye to see with so, I can only see half of your beauty. Dad has two eyes and can see you in full splendor.” Viana giggled, delighted. Horace looked down at his son in gratitude for not telling her about the war, even if he did exaggerate sometimes. Hestia simply smiled back in understanding.
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