The Brink
Vincent woke up, and instinctively smiled, already knowing what day it was without having to think twice. It was his birthday. More than that, it was his eighteenth birthday. Perhaps not so great a deal in the Asgard of his birth or the Latveria of his father, but here, in the country he had made his home, it meant a great deal. He had high hopes for the day.
There had been that miserable little worm of a thought that Kristoff was no longer legally expected to look after him, but that was routinely quashed each time it came up.
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