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"He should. He should care. It's his job to care, kid, and he's failed at that." Sigurd said.
"He should. He should care. It's his job to care, kid, and he's failed at that." Sigurd said.
Cerulean shrugged a bit. He still didn't really understand, but he couldn't convince Sigurd that his father was a decent person. "Um… should we go back to your house, sir?"
“Only if you want to. It’s your decision.” he said, standing up and carrying the small boy with him. “Where do you want to go?”
"I'm fine to just go back to your house, sir." Cerulean yawned and rested his head on Sigurd's shoulder. "Are you okay? Turning into a big spooky thing is probably pretty tiring.
“I don’t get tired, kid. Didn’t really when I was mortal, and I certainly don’t now.” he shrugged, teleporting them back to his home in the woods.
"Oh… why not?" Cerulean asked. "And what does mortal mean?" He glanced around curiously when they suddenly teleported, obviously a bit confused.
“It means you can die. Disappear from this plane of existence and make it to the next.” Sigurd explained, looking sad and tired. He’d never see his husband again, but at least the funeral had been nice.
"Oh… what's a plane of existence?" He asked, curling his tail around Sigurd's arm as he was carried along. "Is it nice? Or is it not very fun?"
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