päike.

Blissfully unaware of his surroundings, The Mistress’ Lord plays in his sandbox for hours at a time. In all of his four years, he has not found anything he likes to do more than building castles in the air. With his tiny hands, he weaves beautifully impossible tales of epic feats and idealistic circumstances beyond the realms of his limited understanding. 

The Mistress watches him from the park bench with an indulgent smile and mentally reminds herself never to teach him the word ‘fiction.’