Wtih absolution
In my dream, he kept asking me to tell him stories from a blank book with a ruined cover. I made them up as I went along just to speak. He kept crying and would not stop even for every kiss that I placed against his cheek smeared with clear and fragrant mortal tears, or for every story that I told him. Despite that I could not comfort him, I did not stop because I feared his pain if I did.

I have to come to terms with that I cannot help Amadeo.

Lately, sleep brings me no rest and I fear the evening that she will leave and I will be alone without her.

It was supposed to be a matter of curiosity, of sating a brief interest. Yet, it has become more.

I will not tell this to her.

Marius de Romanus
pridie Nones September MMDCCLX