Me neither. But my dad loved them. He was a storyteller. [She misses his big voice, the faces he'd make and the way he'd wave his arms around as he'd tell his tales. He'd pretend to be a monster and then scoop her up in a giant hug and her mother would come "rescue" her and she felt so safe.
She fills the cup up with water and pours it in, focusing on the routine, mechanical motions in order to drive away an intense bout of homesickness. (If she were home at the beach house, she would go cuddle Naga until it faded to a dull ache, but she doesn't know how to ask for comfort from anyone else. It doesn't even occur to her to try.)]
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She fills the cup up with water and pours it in, focusing on the routine, mechanical motions in order to drive away an intense bout of homesickness. (If she were home at the beach house, she would go cuddle Naga until it faded to a dull ache, but she doesn't know how to ask for comfort from anyone else. It doesn't even occur to her to try.)]