Ethan
Demyan had been staring at his reflection for about an hour now. From the moment we came back to the town house he sat on top of the vanity countertop in my bathroom and held a gold tweezer to his eyebrows. I had no idea what was fascinating him so much but he would constantly pull his face back.
"At this rate we'll never go downstairs," I sighed as I entered the bathroom holding Belli to my chest as she soundly slept.
He looked back at me then pouted, "Am I getting old?"
"Your thirty-one now," I shrugged, "But you haven't aged one bit."
That did not seem to lessen his worry at all, "Looks like I'm getting old."
"And I have grey hairs," I rolled my eyes, "Trust me you look like the picture of youth."
"I wouldn't even know if I have grey hair hey," he ran his fingers through hair. "Unless I am grey if you think about it. We have no colour in our hair whatsoever."
