It's her eyes, mad and wild, but he'd never seen those before: no one has ever so openly coveted his power, but perhaps that was the power of children. Aleksander (that secret name he barely used, dusty and full of cobwebs) had been still too young to recognize it for what it was, and when she invited him to swim at night, he thought nothing of it but maybe this time I can have a friend.
This pattern, obviously, did not repeat itself. Annika died, and so did whatever remnants of a child's innocence he once had, sullen and forced to grow up too soon.
