32
“Father?… Father?” The voice lingered in the air, light in tone, drifting in and out on a heartbeat rhythm. “Father…” it uttered again, and again.
Csoda, half asleep, had to truly digest the word, fully comprehend that it was being addressed to him, though he knew he did not have a child.
Csoda opened his eyes, but the darkness of the room where he laid was as black as the world behind his closed lids.
“Father?” The voice came again, and this time with his eyes open, Csoda could sense that the voice was coming from a presence to his right.
Comfortable, yet still unable to move his body, he tried to move his eyes, but only darkness revealed itself. Darkness, and the sense that someone stood near, close to his hand laying flat by his side, palm down on what felt like a silken blanket
