"What day is it? And be ready to get a heavy shock if you dare to get it wrong, what day is it?"

Tiny fingers dance around my skin ready to light up and burn me to a nice crisp, but of course I know what day it is.

This date as been burned into my head for years and years plus if I don't remember my mind is going to be toast.

"The day that Elle Bishop came into this world, happy birthday, El."

"Good boy, now where's my present?"

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The need to get gifts for the princess (or else have my skin turn a nice crisp color) started the very first year she found herself at the company and for some strange unknown reason I was her one and only friend.

(well, and all the ones that were in her damaged little mind that was starting to become that way each and every day that she was there)

"I'm seven now, so where's my present, Adam?"

-

Every single year (and I mean it, every one) since she turned into the woman before me it has been the same thing over and over again.

Our little play that we do, dancing around each other with sparks flying trying our best to be the lest normal people in the world.

So far we have won that almost hands down.

"Where it always is, every year since you turned into you sweet sixteen self, on my lips."

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