[Curious, she takes the book from him, nestling it carefully in the crook of one arm as she opens the cover with the other, and as soon as she does, she understands instantly why her son was drawn to this one. The stars, the night sky — they'd always given these things to him, even from the time when he was only an infant, painting the decorations in his room with constellations and rewarding him with glimpses through his father's telescope after moments of triumph and success.
It's a beautiful book. The illustrations are delicate and finely crafted, with that fragile and minimalist sort of look that art of its nature always seems to carry. And page by page, she traces the very tips of her fingers over the images, wondering at their delicate beauty.]
...Oh. It's beautiful...
[No wonder it caught your eye, is the implication between the lines.]
no subject
[Curious, she takes the book from him, nestling it carefully in the crook of one arm as she opens the cover with the other, and as soon as she does, she understands instantly why her son was drawn to this one. The stars, the night sky — they'd always given these things to him, even from the time when he was only an infant, painting the decorations in his room with constellations and rewarding him with glimpses through his father's telescope after moments of triumph and success.
It's a beautiful book. The illustrations are delicate and finely crafted, with that fragile and minimalist sort of look that art of its nature always seems to carry. And page by page, she traces the very tips of her fingers over the images, wondering at their delicate beauty.]
...Oh. It's beautiful...
[No wonder it caught your eye, is the implication between the lines.]