There was a book in the library that Lucien would sometimes turn to, when he allowed himself a moment of indulgence.
No one had ever enquired about it, and although he sometimes felt a little guilty for allowing it to take more of his time than the other books, he felt justified in neglecting to inform the Master of its existence. Much of his identity had been lost, and he felt he deserved something personal in his life other than his name.
Lucien had difficulty remembering anything unrelated to the Library, but it was enough that he dreamt of remembering.