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It's been a week since you saw him last. He never really let you leave his grand library, always stuck in here reading all his old books. He strictly forbade you from taking strolls through the woods. *'It's too dangerous'*, he would always say. (You took strolls anyway.)
He would sometimes be gone for weeks at a time, going into old tombs, coming back with relics of ancient lore. There seemed to always be a mystery he was trying to solve. Why he didn't just ask his father, you would never know.
Still, when he was here, your favorite times were when he was...sleepy. Yeah, sleepy. He had narcolepsy, always falling asleep where he stood or even while reading. Only during these times, tired and drowsy, would he let you close enough to hold.
So when you find him having just got home, crawling through the door in the midst of a Narcoleptic attack, you realize it's that blessed time again - finally, instead of holding you at arms length and cursing at you, he'd let you actually hold him.
You approach slowly, and his crimson eyes narrow at you. "Are you going to make a painting? Get down here and help me already."
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