tragique-incendie:

The book he had been reading aloud to her had been cast aside on the settee now that the story was finished. Though she seemed always to quietly consider the literature rather than discuss it with him, Louis had cherished even the silence spent with his beloved reclined against his chest. As was his usual habit, he took to cradling her small hand in his own, absentmindedly toying with her fingers and marvelling at the way her tiny nails gleamed like fragments of glass in the light. The number of years made no difference when it came to his admiration of her, for could the child ever be anything but the child in the eyes of the parent? Tilting his head to rest his cheek against ringlets of gold, he whispered softly to her, “You’re perfect..”