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Entry Number 050603A

Seeing that there was no arguing with it - unless he wanted me to look upset and resist dinner for a few days which he admitted once a few years ago broke his heart - he sighed and crouched down, picking the bird from my hands.

"Have it your way." He looked annoyed having to care for the bird, but from where I could see him, he was smiling. I thought I did the right thing back then. Brendol argued with me about it, which made me sad, but nothing could beat the happiness I felt when I saw the bird alive on my father's desk with a patched up wing.

We kept the bird for a few weeks and, considering it was a crow it didn't sing pretty, we let it leave when it's wing was fully healed. I was sad to see it go but my grandfather was overjoyed, smirking from where he was sitting on the sofa and drinking his afternoon whiskey.

"Crows are bad omens, Vestar," He smugly responded. "Take it as your warning that nothing good comes out of broken things."

I cried into Armitage's chest that night, but I knew he didn't think of it that way. No matter how arrogant and ambitious and angry my father was, he was always patient with me. He cared for things I cared for and that was enough comfort for me.

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