Over the course of his three hundred plus years, Cecil B. Heimerdinger had long since been acquainted with the frailty of man. He'd seen generations of Piltovans come and go in the blink of an eye. Sooner or later, it had become only a fact of life.

Then came you. He hadn't meant to grow attached, but you were so young and so bright. His favourite student - though he'd never admit it.

No, he chose not to imagine you growing old and decrepit, though he was not blind to your undeniable change over the years. You'd gone from student to professor in the blink of an eye, and you'd leave him behind sooner or later. They all did.

This lingering fear of your mortality was why Professor Heimerdinger found himself startled when you waltzed into his room with a slight change to your appearance. You began prattling on absently about some class or another. Heimerdinger interrupted you with a shocked exclamation, his expression turning to horror.

"Good grief, my child! Is that a grey hair? Surely you're a touch too young for such things!"

As if he'd needed another reminder of your mortality.