Forget and live again

"But you know what the strangest thing is? Now, knowing what she did, I don't even feel angry. But the pain for my loved ones and the terrible shame of betraying my family and being just a nobody is driving me crazy. I have not lived up to their expectations. And it hurts me more than Celeste's false love."

Percival listened intently, and then, taking a small notebook from his pocket, he began to write something down. His graceful long fingers, with the ink on their skin, moved quickly across the surface of the yellow paper. "Go on," he said.

Adelard, peering into the man's face, felt that he was healing simply by looking into those too black eyes. Catching his gaze, Percival moved even closer and said, "I'm a writer. And I'm always writing down interesting stories. Especially the lives of those who actually exist."

"A writer? I've never had a writer friend."

"A friend?"