[He was always the best to play with, when she was younger and loved make-believe. He was the most inventive whether it came to building castles out of blankets and chairs, or elaborate plotlines that distracted her from her sad orphan beginning. She would give anything to relive those days. To cherish them properly.]

Yeah. You'd better recognize me still, Gustave.

[A year, nine, eighty. He'll forever be 32 while time passes for her.

The hand he kissed reaches out to brush her fingers over his cheek, the scruff of his beard. She has a hundred memories of her cheek against his, her hair getting caught. So many hugs and embraces and moments she'll continue to miss terribly.]

Did you know? I used to hate my red hair. I always wished it was brown, like yours. It made it obvious we weren't related.