Even more Edgey, but it's little kid Edgey this time around. :3
"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one. The end."
Gregory Edgeworth shut A Christmas Carol- penned by Charles Dickens, a personal favourite of his- and gently ruffled his son's hair as he sat on the end of said nine-year-old's bed. Gregory's son- Miles, his name was- smiled up at him as he suddenly thought of a question.
"Dad?"
"Yes, Miles?" Gregory's voice was laced with a hint of concern.
"I just wondered…you know Tiny Tim? Bob Cratchit's son, from the novel?"
Miles was answered with a small nod of affirmation.
"Well, while you were reading the novel to me, Dad, I thought about something; Tim had been through a lot in his lifetime, even though he was still so young. He belonged to a poor family, he was on the verge of developing a disease that could potentially kill him, he couldn't really walk without his crutches- Tim must have felt extremely helpless and sad. I wondered, though, how did he stay so cheerful when his past, present and- as he and his family must have thought- his near future was filled with such…such pain?"
A look of sorrow crossed Gregory's eyes for but a moment before he thought deeply for a while, taking Miles' hand and giving it a comforting squeeze.
"Look, Miles, I don't know how he did it-I guess Charles Dickens would say the Christmas spirit."
Gregory gave a little chuckle before carrying on.
"Like I said, I don't exactly know how Tim did it- but if anything should happen to you that would ever make your past, present and future pain-filled, know that I will always be there for you, my son. Do you know that, Miles? Always."
Miles smiled weakly as his eyes began to close. "Thanks, Dad."