His mood was shifting. He wasn’t quite as uptight as he was before. “Willow…you are a gifted child, and I’m not talking about painting,” he began. We both stared forward as we walked. My body was tense. I’d rehearsed over and over again exactly how I would tell my parents about my gift. The shock of their knowing was crushing to me. “The gifts you have come, in part, from me,” he said in his familiar peaceful tone. I looked slowly up at him and noticed that he was smiling down at me. “Which ones?” I muttered knowing that as far as I knew his dreams were normal. “Well, I cannot feel others’ emotions, if that is what you are asking,” he said quietly as he gave me a pained smile. His blunt answer made my stomach drop. I had no idea that he or they knew what I could do. We made it back to our home.
