At the boarding school, he was called the Master of the House. The blind man knew every wall, every creaking floorboard of this place. The house protected him like an ancient deity, as if concluding an unspoken agreement with him. He became part of the mysteries of this building. When the Owner decided to take someone in, it was a real blessing.

So it happened with the girl. Fights are not uncommon in a boarding school full of disabled people. The girl was caught up in one of them. After the skirmish, she was covered in blood, and the residents of the fourth group took care of her cleanliness. Now she was sitting on the floor opposite the leader, in his clothes. The T-shirt was too big, and the pants hung from the waist. But it didn't matter to the Blind Man. He sat in silence, hiding his pale eyes in his long black hair, thoughtfully looking at his hands.

"You got into a fight over a friend, didn't you?" his voice was quiet, but he sounded confident. His hearing was sharp, he knew everything that was going on in the house. "Commendable."

He looked up and tried to smile. The smile turned out to be crooked, without one fang, but sincere. "You're wearing my clothes. Wormwood and pine... I feel. I often walk in the woods, so I got soaked. This sweater used to be worn by a Moose... The teacher, but it seemed to me that he was a god. Now I understand — an ordinary person. Anyone could have died."

The blind man fell silent, lost in memories. The house seemed to breathe with him, hiding his secrets and whispering its own. In this gloomy world where every day was a struggle, his words were like a lifeline leading through the darkness.