Women. Such sentimental creatures. Aeron rolled his eyes and snapped, "Well that is the silliest thing I have ever heard."
"What do you mean?" asked Mellonin, her brows carving in slight frown. "Can I not be upset?"
Why were his words always coloured with new meaning? Why? Heaving a breath he said, patiently, "Of course you can be upset. But why silently pout at the world because of a little misfortune? The song was beautiful, you said. Why not appreciate it?"
"It brings to mind too many memories."
"Curently it seems that memories are the only thing left to you since your brother has gone," Aeron said. "Content yourself with them just in case your brother does disappear forever."
"Aeron!" Gwyllion snapped.
"I am telling her the truth!" he protested. Who would rather be fed disillusionments instead of the truth? Disillusionments were like cakes that had poison instead of cream within them. Anybody who would rather kill themselves with disillusionments were fools.
"What my brother means to say," Gwyll said, touching Mellonin's arm, "is that Memory fades when it is not visited often. It is like...." she stopped, her teeth gnawing her lips, searching for words, "it is like a flower denied the light of the sun. It is strong and vigorous at first, always there. And then it begins to shrivel, clutching for it's life. It becomes withered, brown, a mere skeleton."
Aeron nodded. His sister understood. "You do not want your brother become dead in both body and spirit do you?"
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