【生肉搬运】鸟雀Passerine 第七章（下）(39)

Wilbur rolled his eyes affectionately at her. The ‘Art Tower’ had been his mother’s idea, and her first mistake had been allowing a ten-year-old Wilbur to name it. It was the east tower of the castle, and it was meant to be a place just for the two of them. A place where Wilbur could play as loud and as badly as he wanted, and where Mother could accidentally spill jars of paint without ruining some random priceless artifact. A place where stringed instruments hung on the walls instead of morning stars and swords, and worn easels stood in place of suits of armor. It was a tower. And it was full of art. Thus, following young Wilbur’s stream of consciousness—the Art Tower.

Older Wilbur would have chosen something a bit more tasteful. He would name it after the massive arched windows that let in the soft morning light, or the daffodils that grew at the sills, or the white lace curtains dancing in the breeze like the veil of a bride made of air. But, it would be Art Tower, now and forever.
Tommy would never let him live it down.
“I’m not hearing any music,” Mother hummed.
Wilbur sighed lovingly as he put the violin back under his chin. “The things I do for you, Mother.”