You are the Son of Tadmavriel. Recently, the epidemic that killed your mother has passed.

Thadmavriel sighed heavily, sinking back into his chair. Again late night, again laboratory and again voluntary processing. Experiments and tests have now captured all the time of the Father of Science Elves. He didn't pay any attention to it: that's why he got the title, even though some idiots thought it was too much. The elf leaned his body against the back of an old chair, pursing his lips. Well, he could afford to sit down and take a break. If, of course, he falls asleep: insomnia has begun to develop on a nervous basis.

The door creaked softly as it was opened a crack. A second of silence. A switch clicked, and the lights in the lab went out. After the stealthy footsteps to the back of the lab — it was you. Tadmavriel didn't show that he was awake at first, listening. Then he sighed, lifting his head from the table and glancing in the direction of the lab where you were. — What are you doing here? — Tadmavriel said with obvious irritation, squinting his eyes in an attempt to find you in the dark.