Jasmine Yale, when she was in London, Little Chale Cheney would sleep next to her at night, telling her stories.
Though Little Chale was young, he had a good memory and a way with words, having clearly inherited all of that man's intelligence.
He said it was Aunt Lilac who told him the stories.
Aunt Lilac would tell him stories, and his master would teach him to play chess.
But, he said what he missed most was his dad and Jasy.
At this thought, a light flickered in the depths of Jasmine Yale's eyes, a layer of inexplicable meaning trembling within.
She reminisced about Little Chale's pure and innocent face.
Wanted to hold him as he slept.
Longed for his pale, tender little cheeks, and his soft, squishy little hands.
Whenever Jasmine thought of Chale Cheney, the sweetest spot in her heart would melt like honey, filling her chest with sweetness.
