He was having a hard time breathing again, his throat had been feeling blocked for days. Nothing seemed to relieve it. Lying down made it somewhat easier, so he lay, he lay all day long and listened to music, systematically ignoring the books and Chessboard that lay on the table next to his bed. Loud music, powerful and all-drowning, dark, brooding music. He was sad.
Genetic disorders suck.
Cystic Fibrosis sucks. For a six years old he knew enough curses to have no trouble describing his condition. He coughed and breathed in with an effort. And that was when she appeared. Her eyes were sparkling and enchanted.