Notes

He felt the woman walk towards him, approaching just enough to get better access to him, without, unifying their personal spaces. He would have done the same.

A new warm crooked smile framed the anonymous presence's lips. And again, it can be felt, rather than seen.

"Notre mémoire est un monde plus parfait que l'univers : elle rend la vie à ce qui n'existe plus." ("Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.") Strangely, even if those words had been spoken in any other language, the woman would still know their meaning, as if she had heard them in her own language. It was a quote of the greatest figures of French letters of the 19th century slipped from his lips, conjured by the topic — oblivion and memory —; and their were unaccompanied by any mention on his part of turning to the woman yet.
He continued to contemplate the splendor that placid and serene night; breathing the blend of refreshing scents, such a diverse and exotic flora presents in the forest behide them.

"Sometimes these memories can be equally inestimable to other people as well. But, when someone passes through the dark night of the soul, embracing everything that shines is inevitable at some point. Like those mischievous little creatures, Nifflers. Everyone is at the mercy of 'clinging' to the bright possibility of treasured memories. Under the risk of converting himself into the Gollum." A short, vigorous laugh rumbles in his chest, arising from his analogies. "Thank you for giving me a glimpse into your private universe through your answers to my questions." He says and sincerity emanates from every word formulated.
"I met someone once who preferred to be forgotten in the first scenery." He commented, folding his hands behind him, still holding the cane which he did not seem to need in an orthodox way. "Her argument was based on the possibility that, if she were unable to retain new memories, those dear to her heart might feel as if the problem was rooted in them, as if they did not occupy the irreplaceable place they did in her life and her being." The skull's face was turned towards the woman, the eyes characteristically gleaming. They seemed to have a life of their own. "In the end, both events are equally inconvenient, to say the least. Fortunately, true forgetting is a painful illusion. From my perspective, no memory lies completely lost, it still exists somewhere. Always one door away. As intact as the day it was conceived."

He feels how the blanket gives the woman a sense of protection similar to the sensation that he unintentionally "stole" when she was drawn into his presence the moment that a mental connection between them was established. It would have been unfavourable and petrifying if the interaction of them had taken place in the sanctuary of her bedroom. Noticing the presence of an unknown man in her house, in her bedroom, looking through the window as if he had just been through it. The possibility that some decor item or the baseball bat behind the door. Or the pepper spray in the drawer could be used against him.


Mistrust sometimes becomes a century-old tree in the spirit. But every tree was once a seed. Many people approached the woman wanting something. Something she could not give. Something she did not want to give. Something she was not ready to give and did not even know if she ever would be. But his presence unaccompanied expectations and demands.
Some people and places can be quicksand. And he had the feeling that sometimes, in the past, a woman had become aware of the presence of it when she was being dragged down by them. He did not need to access her memories or read her thoughts or even the emotions related to both.

The body language said so.

"Candana, I kindly ask you to stop right now. Of course, she will share with me just enough so I can do it twice. She does not know who I am." He seemed to be talking to someone for a second or two, but for the woman it was just the two of them. "She will present details about herself at her own pace and time. If she wants to". The advice was expressed in a gentle intonation, devoid of threat or judgment.
He placed the cane in front of him and the palm of his hand hovered over it for a second, gliding downward in the air, as if closing a dead man's eyes. Those eyes stopped emitting that mystical luminosity and suddenly, the cane vanished.
Although he appeared to be talking to such a unique inanimate object, he was talking to someone connected to it. Specifically, connected to the blade of the sword occult in the structure of the cane.

"I will seek to quench your Curiosity. But, first—" He slowly turned, making his expressive gaze, composed by a pair of peculiar hypnotic green eyes, collide with her's. "There were two questions. For which one do you want priority?" The way he looked at her, seeming to see beyond what the eyes could see. The horizon of the soul, the recesses of the mind, the secret chambers of the heart. There was no trace of deceitful intentions.