I smile wider and brush my thumb against her cheek, "I want to make you a demi-god. It's possible to do that...But hard. I wont do it without your permission." I say, sighing.
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
"Excuse me," I said, smoothly, walking towards the two. Children - those Vincent had spoken to me about - chased each other around two other people's legs. They looked at me, startled. In a dark suit with matching breifcase, sunglasses, white hair carefully combed, I must have looked like some creepy lawyer to them. "I'd hate to interrupt, but I've been waiting a while to speak to you. It's about the children."
"Excuse me," I apologized. "That must have been abrupt. Here." I handed the guy who had spoken a pristine white business card. "Azrael," he read. "An undertaker?" "Well, I'm also a lawyer," I said, adjusting my sunglasses. "I deal in that which concerns the gods. A prophecy was ordained about the children, and I bear the message.
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. — Mark Twain
