—From the journal of Lord Alexander Greystone, Arcturus, Sirius System, 2544 My earliest memories were of sitting in my father’s library, in one of his high-backed, worn, leather chairs listening to the crackle of the fire, feeling its warmth lull me gently to sleep. That fire was always burning brightly, even at the height of summer, but I was too young to understand that some chills went soul-deep and could never be banished. I used to sit there, watching my father, seated as always behind his desk, scratching away with a pen into his leather bound journal. For many years I thought this was synonymous with family, just the two of us, alone, in that room with the comfortable silence resting between us. I never knew my mother. I think for many years I didn’t even know what a mother was. It was just my father and I. He meant the world to me, my sun and my moon, the centre of my universe. I vaguely recall another, older woman, but one day she simply vanished and I never saw her again. I asked my father about her once, but he simply brushed aside the question, explaining that she couldn’t visit any more. It wasn’t until I was older that I found out that she had died, passing away in her sleep one night. Maybe that was why my father never mentioned my mother? Doing this would have involved a long, and complex, discussion about life—and death. Perhaps that was just too much for him to cope with, already having experienced so much grief in his life, now left to raise a young boy, alone. While our home was never filled with joy or laughter, I remember feeling safe and loved. Warmed, both by the fire and my father’s constant, reassuring, presence. The knowledge that no matter what happened he would always be there for me, to support me, certain that he would never allow any harm to befall me.
