Gold Dust.
I have your photographs And the sun on your face I'm freezing that frame 'Gold Dust' - Tori Amos
She found the package on her doorstep, just as she had all the others. The last one had been delivered years ago. She almost feared they had finally stopped. That he was grown now and the mysterious photographer had stopped following him. The surprise of seeing it there made her nearly drop the bag of groceries she held in the crook of her arm.
Retrieving it quickly, she tapped her finger against the door's lock and moved quickly through the portal as it hissed open. The groceries were left on the kitchen counter, forgotten for the moment as she tore away the strange brown wrapping to reveal the holocube inside. The message was displayed on the surface, longer than the others.
My apologies, Mrs. Neverdusk. I'm sure you can understand with the tensions going on and your son being grown now that it's much more difficult for me to take the time to get a snapshot of him to send to you. As you can see, he has passed his trials. This may well be the last time I can send you anything. However, I have also passed on a word of his parentage to him. He's old enough and trained enough now that I feel him more than capable of making his own decisions about his family. Regards, Y.
She felt a little chill run down her spine. The very idea of him coming to see her. What might she even say to him? Would he remember her at all? Did he know the circumstances of how he ended up on Tython? The bargain that was struck?
Shaking her head, she turned the holocube over and clicked the button to activate it. His image sprung to life, a young man now nearing twenty. Such a placid expression, his chin lifted as he studied something above him, his hands held loosely in his lap. He had her eyes, she noted. Of course he did.
She tried to touch the image, just wishing she could touch his jaw, studying the way he moved. Then startled as it hissed with static and the picture suddenly disappeared until she pulled her hand away and it reformed.
The holocube joined the others she'd stored away in a chest under her side of the bed. She took a moment to dust all of them off with care, displaying the photos sent to her over the years. From a young boy of seven, squinting into the Tythonian sunlight, the padawan braid growing longer against his cheek as the years passed. An adolescent holding a practice blade with a touch of uncertainty. A young man, fingers steepled in front of him, confidence in the half smile on his lips.
When finally she turned them off, she closed the chest. Kissing the tips of her fingers, she pressed them against the top of the container and then pushed it back beneath her bed. Standing, straightening her blouse, she turned back toward the kitchen.
She still had groceries to put away, after all.
