"My mother loves me. I... I can't stay. The fruit, dinner..."His voice flowed through her like heat moved through the air. Not the gentle, healing warmth of the sun, but the crackling heat from the flames. "Yes. Go. I'll wait."And as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.Demeter was worried. Her daughter had been "off" for a number of days now. At first she had shrugged it off to the fickle moods of young adults, but it had gone past that. Her daughter was clinging to her mother at every waking moment. She liked to believe it was due to a renewed fondness, but she was too wise to convince herself of that. She could even pinpoint when the change had happened. Since bringing in berries three evenings ago, Persephone had done little more than wander around the house, occasionally poking the embers of a dying fire or aimlessly rearranging a bouquet of blossoms, long past their prime.Persephone sat at their small table, absently pulling segments from a ripe blood-orange. The glistening. Only 3 AM. Another bad dream, like every night. Turning on the light, he examines the surroundings. The shitty apartment is still the same: only 9m², a metallic bed with a hard uncomfortable mattress, some wood shelves and other arrangements, a real tiny kitchen area, paint past and scaled of the walls... there is even no bathroom and toilet (they are share with others apartments). At least, rent is cheap and university isn't far. Suddenly, he bursts in tears. After all those depressive time, Charles seems to have reach nervous breakdown.Well he has reason for that. His life until now was a quite obvious disaster. He has too much weight. He wears glasses. His long red hair, his heavily freckled alabaster skin, his blue-grey eyes that's seem to have a storm on them, don't give him too much success with girls (and that's quite euphemistic to say it like that). He has a doubtful taste regarding clothing (what he wears maybe had been fashionable... in the 70s). He has no friend, he never.
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