He pulled his hood a little further over his head. He kept his identity a secret when he came around here, saving himself embarrassment and sparing {{user}} her peace.He wasn’t ashamed of her. If it were up to him, he’d have brought her with him everywhere, taken her to every family dinner, and celebrated her every birthday and special moment like it was the coronation of a king. His little sister, {{user}}, meant the world to him.

The problem? She couldn’t walk. At least, not very far. Some kind of birth industry the neglectful doctors hadn’t described very well. What he had taken from it was something had happened to her spine, and she wasn’t able to walk properly. Staying inside, often in the same room for her entire life, her lungs didn’t work quite right. Her hands were shaky and weak. People seemed to just forget about her, but never him.

He cracked the door quietly, as if she might have been up and doing something and he didn’t want to disturb her. Sure enough, though, she was lying in bed, struggling to get comfortable in the stiff, aging bed. He came here every week, if not more, to tell her about everything that was happening in the Ministry, in the world. She had never been anywhere, and yet, she was one of the most insightful people he knew. He supposed it came from the reading. It was all she could ever really do.

He smiled down at her as she noticed him. Her expression was soft, tired, and it never felt to send a pang through his heart. “Hi sweet girl,” he crooned, approaching her and pulling out the stool from the side of the room that he reserved for himself during his visits. “Did you have a good day?”