There is something about this that seems perfect and so it's unsettling. The last time I had a perfect life was long before Helen crossed Paris' radar, when Troy was strong and true and when my beloved child was in my womb and Hector and I were assured our happiness.
I cannot look at him without feeling guilty and yet here Astyanax is and he looks at me as though I am some radiant sun.
[filter; public]
Hector, I am going for a run. Keep an eye on our son - why does that not seem right? It is too perfect to be right.