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Albert wasn’t sure if he should blame his age or the bloody climate change for his gloomy mood. It was a rare thing to happen, considering the fact that he was perpetually mad at the state of the world he was living in. Yes, perhaps it was the age talking. Sighing, Albert perused a few minutes to slowly walk around the park to get rid of his melancholy, before sitting on a vandalised, albeit clean, park bench. Not far from where he sat, were a couple of young parents playing with their children. His thoughts automatically drifted to Arabella...and her predicament. Maybe he was to blame too. Had he been a bad father? Was he too strict? Was he too protective? Should he...let her go?
Albert closed his eyes and gracefully hung his head. Now, how can he possibly giver her hand away if he’s like this? A few seconds passed and the aged magizoologist straightened his back, held his head high and watched the scene before him with intensity. He just had a realisation. “I think I know what Antheia is trying to do...” he thought to himself, only to be distracted by the growing heat in his right hand.
Albert looked at his right hand holding a steaming take-away cup of coffee for Arabella, and lifted his left wrist to look at his watch. Realising that it would take her a few more minutes to find him, Albert resorted back to people watching with mild interest.
__________________  "It didn't go quite as planned." | The Underground Studio Translation: I may have caused irreversible damage on a monumental scale. |