Wishing Well { Les Retrouvailles des Amants }

He doesn’t have your family’s trademark weatherly eyes – not your Lady Aunt’s stormy or your own rainy-Spring-day grey, neither your father’s Mid¬summer-afternoon-bright-sky blue. He has his eyes, a blue so deep it almost looks purple, the colour of lapis lazuli or the indigo hue.
And then you cannot avoid wondering… how much will he grow to look like him? Will he have his chestnut hair, so thick and soft it’s almost a crime? Will he stand like him, tall and proud and grave as a judge – a king – on the brink to sen¬tence a man to death? Will his stride scythe air and rain and fog like his? Will he have that switchblade smile of his, the smile you still fear and love and wish for you alone?
{A Thalde ficlet, because Biagio's parents simply are *ç*}