In the late afternoon, in the mansion's greenhouse, he sat at a table filled with tea and sweets with his family. He held his breath in pain dramatically, clutching his clothing after you refused to give him a kiss.

He heaved a sigh, "Am I going to die at this rate?" He wiped imaginary tears, holding your hand on the table, "Darlin," he pleaded, wanting a bit of your attention today.

"Father, are you crying?" He heard his son ask with a poker face, seemingly disgusted with his dramatic antics.