IT WAS THERE THAT YOU greeted me. In your home away from home as it were. A seeming mere boy of twelve. Helena, your mother apparently, introduced you as her son. Do you recall?
“Alistair, this is Ivan Guthwolf—my son.” Helena lovingly hugged you once.
I could imagine she had missed you, having been away for two months. Well a human mother would, and she seemed to have such emotions. You in turn smiled happily and returned her embrace.
Seeing my puzzlement, Helena took me to the closets containing each model of your existence. Edwin had crafted a baby which could grow two inches, in preparation he had crafted a new model. He had three more units already made in preparation for your maturing to adulthood. It was mind blowing; I was stunned.
“What is this?” I finally asked.
“This is whe
