Cousin pissed off one of those fuckers from the Unseelie Court, now he's got a sapling for an arm & talks incessantly of dust.
"The dust of this world," he says, waving the young tree that extends from his left shoulder, "it fills my lungs, it drowns them in dust."
"Everywhere the dust comes in," says my cousin, trembling. "It comes in and it suffocates the light. Do you see the dust, Brenner? Do you?"
He looks at me, his eyes imploring empathy, his flesh hand twitching at his side.
Don't know what to say to the guy, my favorite aunt's son.
Don't like to stand there, pretending not to look at the bright lichens on his sapling arm.
DON'T LIKE TO THINK ABOUT THE DUST