Young Lloyd sat by the table, his hazel eyes focused on the paper before him. He held his pencil lightly, sketching a figure on the white paper.
His head tilted to the side, while his pink tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth, a habit he had yet to stop since he had started to sketch. A soft breeze blew around the study room, carrying the scent of books as they washed over his face, and his bangs wafted to the right side of his head.
Finally, after one last stroke, he gazed at the paper with a satisfied smile on his face.
He held the paper in between his hands, still smiling. Lloyd looked behind him to check if nobody was looking at him.
Particularly his mother, because she would start talking about women again. Lloyd didn't like women but this one was a different case. He was unable to forget her after drinking her blood.
