Erwin spends his days with his teacher and guardian in a little garden outside of common space and time. A curse has affected his teacher, and would take away his sight in the near future. This approaching blindness, along with his teacher's long bu...
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"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to remember the colors," he answered, his gaze focused, his head tilted slightly. He looked curious, and contemplative, and... sad.
"You... you can't see the colors, anymore?" Erwin asked, the words heavy in his mouth. They tasted like sand, and he couldn't swallow.
"Soon, I won't," his Teacher whispered, his finger tracing the shape of a petal. His movements were gentle, tender, as if afraid the plant would break. "This will likely be the last time I see them, and, as such, I want to enjoy it while I can. So, please, give me a minute."
The next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, things were mostly the same. His Teacher was still there, and his sight was still fine, and he was still his Teacher.
Erwin still tended to the garden, and his Teacher still read his books. The man would occasionally stop and ask his student questions about the weather, or the flowers, or the plants. It was like he was testing him.
The questions were simple enough, and his answers were correct. But something was... off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his Teacher seemed distracted.
Maybe it was because of what had happened a few days ago.
Maybe it was the way his Teacher's hair kept falling into his face, and blocking his vision, and the way he'd reach for his cup, and miss it, and have to reach again, and again, and again.
Or maybe... maybe Erwin had said something wrong, somehow. He hadn't meant to upset his Teacher, but... but he didn't seem particularly bothered. At least, he didn't act like he was.
Either way, Erwin's fears were still there, and still very real. Every morning, he'd wake up, and his first thought would be whether or not his Teacher would be able to see the flowers he'd watered the night before.
Every night, he'd lay in bed, and wonder if his Teacher could still find his way to his room without bumping into anything, or tripping, or falling.
Every time he spoke to his Teacher, or asked him a question, or gave him something, or said goodbye, he wondered if it was the last time. If he'd ever see the man's face again, or hear his voice, or feel the warmth of his presence.
Erwin wasn't sure what his Teacher had done, exactly, but it had been a long, long time ago. Whatever he'd done had led him to be trapped down here, with Erwin, and no matter how much time had passed, or how many questions Erwin asked, or how much his Teacher taught him, he still didn't know the reason.
But Erwin couldn't imagine him doing anything bad. Even if he didn't know anything about his life, or his family, or his friends, or where he'd been born, or anything like that, his Teacher was a good man. Erwin was sure of it.
