Here's a new bonus chapter I felt was necessary to translate.
It was very interesting for me to write it, and it took me a while.
I hope you'll enjoy discovering Quentin's POV.
If you enjoy reading this, please review! That's really good for me to see some people are enjoying my work :)
Enjoy!
22nd November 2007
"Last Will and Testament of Aurore Berger:
-I wish to be cremated, and for my ashes to be scattered in the wind, in nature, if possible.
-All the journals that belong to me must be given to Quentin Lemage without being read. He will dispose of them as he wishes, along with the sealed letter enclosed, which is intended for him. Similarly, all our shared correspondence (in the black shoebox) must be returned to him.
-I bequeath my black butterfly knife to Élias Foré, along with this phrase: 'Thank you for introducing me to Quentin.'
-I bequeath my role-playing game pouch to Florian Blansec, along with these words: 'Thank you for the RP sessions.'
-I bequeath my art supplies to Maeva Bellico, along with this phrase: 'Thank you for the sweets and cakes in the schoolyard.'
-The letters I received from Mélanie Evrare must be returned to her or burned. I also leave her these words: 'I never forgot you.'
-Élias Foré, Maeva Bellico, Florian Blansec, and Mélanie Evrare may take whatever they want from my remaining possessions, then my parents. I do not care what happens to whatever is left.
-My money must be divided equally between Quentin Lemage, Élias Foré, Maeva Bellico, Florian Blansec, and Mélanie Evrare."
The young man stares at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. It has clearly been read and reread, its condition betraying traces of tears. Aurore. Who made him the keeper of her thoughts and her legacy. His hand reaches for the envelope resting on his bed, trembling slightly. He only grips it, without opening or damaging it. He lacks the courage to face the words.
Aurore is dead. He could have saved her.
One week ago, at this exact time, she was still alive. One week ago, at this exact time, he had left class arm-in-arm with Célia, his girlfriend, and taken her back to his place. Aurore—what had she done? Had she gone rock climbing with the school's sports association, as she did most Wednesdays? He didn't know. He didn't even know if she already knew, at that moment, that she would take her own life that very evening. Probably.
He had spent the afternoon with Célia. First, they'd had a meal he had cooked, followed by kisses that only stopped when it was time to head to the cinema. They'd watched a film, hand in hand, before heading back to his place, still together. Around that time, Aurore had messaged him, saying she wanted to talk. He'd replied that he was with his girlfriend and would have time tomorrow. She hadn't insisted, and though he hated himself for it now, he'd felt relieved. He'd suspected, once again, that she wasn't doing well, and he'd started to lose hope.
He'd known her for six months and had been really talking to her for five, but he hadn't seen any signs of improvement. That night, he'd made love to Célia, and afterward, they'd lain in his bed, drowsy and silent. He had already forgotten about Aurore and was savouring the moment of happiness when his phone rang.
Célia had grumbled a bit, but when he had seen it was his best friend calling, he'd answered anyway. He hadn't particularly wanted to, but he had told her to call if she needed anything, and he didn't want to let her down.
Yet that's exactly what he had done, in every meaning of the word, the young man thinks now. There's a dark glimmer in his eyes as he reflects on the bitter irony of those words. Because by not truly listening, by postponing a conversation that couldn't wait, he had let her jump off that damned roof. He can't erase the horror of the moment he understood what she was planning, a split second before she said goodbye and hung up.
It feels like he'll never again breathe freely, as if the crushing weight of grief suffocates him. He feels guilty—he is guilty. That burden is his to carry.
He hasn't yet found the strength to reread her farewell letter, the only one she left behind, addressed to him. The box containing her journals sits beneath his bed like an invisible threat, its presence undeniable.
15th November 2007
Quentin lies naked beside Célia. She's already asleep, and her steady breathing soothes him. He hasn't known her for very long, true, but what he feels for her is genuine. He's still amazed to be able to love—and be loved in return.
Suddenly, the ringtone of his phone pulls him from his thoughts. Célia stirs, half-awake, and he hurriedly reaches for the phone, cursing himself for forgetting to switch it off. But when he sees who's calling, he hesitates. It's Aurore. He sighs, gets up, and heads out to the balcony as he answers.
"Aurore, why are you calling me at this hour?"
"I'm bothering you…" The familiar voice sounds hesitant. Quentin steels himself with patience and responds.
"You called me because you needed to. What's going on?"
"I think I'm really going to kill myself. I've tried living, but it's not worth it."
"You're not going to do that. I've already told you, I care about you, and I'm not the only one. You're strong, Aurore. And even though it's hard right now, you can take control of your future."
Always the same. Quentin feels like they've had this conversation a thousand times. He genuinely cares about Aurore, but it drains him to see her constantly wrestling with her demons while his efforts to help seem to yield no results.
"You'll get over it if I die. I'm tired of being strong, and I can see that nothing I do makes a difference. It's always the same."
"What happened?"
"Nothing new. I've just decided to stop trying. It doesn't matter anyway. I only called because you told me to."
"You know very well that it does matter, and—"
He's interrupted as Célia calls to him from the living room, asking if he's coming to bed soon. He replies that he'll be there in five minutes and turns back to the phone.
"Try to sleep, think about something else. I need to get back to my girlfriend—she's waiting for me so we can sleep. Things will feel better tomorrow morning, and we can have lunch together if you want and talk more. But tonight, you need rest, okay?"
Aurore often calms down after a night's sleep. Besides, Quentin isn't in the right mindset to deal with this tonight.
"Don't worry, I get it," Aurore says, too softly.
He hears a noise, like a bottle being opened, followed by Aurore coughing as she drinks something.
"What are you doing?" Quentin asks, curious but also vaguely uneasy. The coughing continues, but between gasps, Aurore's hoarse voice finally slips through.
"Goodbye, Quentin. Thanks for everything. Goodnight."
And she hangs up.
22nd November 2007
He had immediately tried to call her back, but there had been no response. He had kept at it for about ten minutes before sending her a text, hoping—just maybe—that she had only been upset or had taken his advice and gone to sleep. But what had jolted him like an electric shock was the fact that she hadn't even read the message. She had always read his texts quickly. Perhaps she had turned off her phone; she often did so to sleep. But deep down, he had known that wasn't it.
Célia had joined him, wondering why he hadn't returned to bed, and he had confessed his fear to her. In the moment, his girlfriend had minimised the situation, probably frustrated that she couldn't just go back to sleep with him, and he had wanted to believe her. But he couldn't bring himself to do so. He had called Élias to ask if he had heard anything, but Élias had known nothing. Eventually, he had gone to bed in despair, promising himself he would call her again in the morning.
He had slept terribly, trying to call his best friend nearly every hour. Finally, at seven in the morning, panic had overwhelmed him, and he had searched for Aurore's house number. Her father had picked up after three rings, his voice groggy from his morning routine. Surprised by Quentin's call, he had gone to check if Aurore was in her room, but she wasn't. That's when Quentin had understood he had been right—and that it was probably already too late. Still, he had left his house to look for her, trying to convince himself that there was still something he could do.
Two hours later, Aurore's father had called him, sobbing. Aurore's body had been found and had just been identified.
Quentin hadn't gone to class that day. He had informed their friends himself, his voice so detached that it had chilled even him. Aurore's father had contacted him again after finding the will his daughter had left behind. Quentin hadn't returned to school since.
It had been Quentin who had helped Élias and Florian move past their denial, who had listened to Maeva sob over the phone. It had been Quentin who had comforted all of them, who had assured them that they couldn't have known, that there was nothing Aurore would have allowed them to see, and that they shouldn't blame themselves. He had avoided talking about the scars she had inflicted on herself.
At the cremation, he had forced himself to watch the entire ceremony, remaining strong and kind for his friends. He had insisted on being present when Aurore's ashes had been scattered, ignoring her parents' curious looks and insinuations about the nature of his relationship with their daughter.
He had fought with Célia as well. Her concerns had felt so distant from his own, and she hadn't given him the space he needed. All of this had happened in just one week.
Tomorrow, he would return to school. At least, he thought, Élias, Florian, and Maeva would be there. If Aurore's death had distanced him from Célia, it had strengthened the bonds of their group. They were true friends. He felt so grateful to have them.
They didn't know about his guilt, though. He hadn't spoken a word about his pain, wanting to protect and support them instead. He hadn't told them that he could have stopped it, that it was his fault—even though Élias knew Aurore had called him that night. Quentin would probably never tell them.
But their simple presence was vital to him. Their ragtag group only held together because they supported one another. As long as one of them stayed standing, the others would follow.
And Quentin wouldn't collapse.
At least, not where anyone could see him.
15th December 2007
Dear Quentin,
When you read this letter, unless I've had incredibly bad luck, I will already be dead. I know I'm not supposed to joke, I guess, but who cares? I know you didn't want me to kill myself. But you see, it's my life, and there's no sense in staying alive for others, because it's my life I'm living, not theirs.
You know that I love you. I love you, Quentin. We both know it's not mutual, and I accept that. No one decides to love, or who to love. You can influence your feelings, but influence is not such a powerful force when it comes to love. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore now. If I'm mentioning this, it's because, despite everything, I couldn't die without telling you—writing it to you—one last time, even if it's useless, and especially so that you know that it's not the reason I'm dying.
My reasons for dying... I think you know them, and in any case, nothing should surprise you, but I suppose it's still fair that I write them to you. This isn't a justification, but maybe it will answer a need you might have. I suppose at this stage, it's better to say too much than not enough.
I'm dying because I've realised that I can't escape my past. I'm still broken. I don't want to live; I have no dreams, no goals, nothing that's worth it. I'm tired of being a burden to you and of being unpleasant to the rest of our friends. You can't imagine the weariness, each morning, of getting up exhausted while nothing has changed. I'm fed up with those nights spent torturing my mind. I've kept living without knowing what to expect. I think that despite myself, when I started having feelings again thans to you, I believed it meant something was going to change. But if there's one certainty, it's that life is suffering, and there's no way to escape it.
Why now, though? Why change my routine and finally decide to die? What happened on Sunday made me think, I believe, and it served as a wake-up call. I'm despicable anyway; I hate myself and yet I understand myself at the same time. You know how they say that if you understand your enemy, it's harder to see them as an enemy? That's not entirely false; it's a bit like the relationship I have with myself. I hate myself, but I understand myself. I love myself, and I'm all I have. But I'm alone, and I'm tired of having to manage on my own. I don't want to sink even lower (which is ironic, given how I'm planning to kill myself—okay, perhaps that's poorly timed humour), but I've already had enough of the ride. It's time to call it quits.
I told you not to get attached to me. I bring nothing good. I hope you understand now, that you hate me. Because I deserve nothing better. But then again, who cares? The essential thing is that you know it's not your fault, and that you realise I'm happy to be dead, that it's what I wanted.
Finally... now that all that's cleared up, there's one more thing I need to address with you: I've left you my notebooks and our letters. You're free to do whatever you want with them; what I'm about to express is just my wishes. Since I'm dead, ultimately, it doesn't matter what happens to my secrets. But if you're willing, I'd like you to keep my notebooks to yourself. They contain a lot of compromising things, and a lot of me too. If you want to get rid of them, which I understand, I'd prefer that you burn them. And at the very least, if possible, don't share anything with my parents—they've already suffered enough, and it was while I was alive that they should have listened to me.
I think that's it. I'll end by telling you that I hope you achieve your dreams. I want you and the others—you who I've grown attached to despite myself—to be happy. I hope you'll forget me quickly. It's a bit brief as a conclusion, but I really do wish it for all of you. I would have liked to end with a poem, but I think, once again, words are eluding me.
So, farewell, Quentin. Have a good life, and thank you for everything you did for me, the time you shared with me, the time you spent helping me... Even if you weren't always aware of it, you were truly helpful.
I love you.
Aurore.
31st December 2007
They're all together for New Year's Eve. Quentin, Elias, Florian, and Maeva. No one else. Célia has chosen to spend the evening with her own friends, who will probably drink quite a lot, which isn't really Quentin's thing. Truth be told, he doesn't really know where they stand as a couple anymore. He still loves her, that much is certain, but Aurore's death looms over them like a shadow. They never really had serious conversations to begin with. Besides, she never really knew Aurore, and it's as though she resents him for having cared so much for his best friend. Célia has always been a little jealous.
They're all together for New Year's, swaying between laughter and tears, as if caught adrift on a stormy sea.
8th January 2008
He sits across from a girl he has never met before but has heard about—Mélanie Evrare. She's tall, with dark hair, very pale skin, and a slender frame. Quentin knows enough about her to notice such details. They're seated at a table in a café in downtown Clermont-Ferrand, near the black stone cathedral. It's not an ideal setting, especially for the conversation they're about to have, but it's the best option he was given. He extends his hand:
"I'm Quentin. Thank you for coming."
"Nice to meet you."
Her voice is a little curt, but at least she's here. They wait for the server to take their orders and leave before starting to talk.
"I brought you your correspondence with Aurore, in case you wanted it back."
The girl considers the bundle he's placed on the table, her expression tinged with sadness, maybe even nostalgia, before pushing it back with a resolute look.
"I don't want it. You can throw it away."
"Are you sure?"
Quentin struggles to understand. Mélanie explains in a tone that tries to sound compassionate:
"Look, I appreciate your effort, but she hasn't been part of my life for a long time. I'm not indifferent to her death—I'm a little sad, yes, we were friends—but… how can I put it… shehas belonged to my past for a while now."
"I understand," Quentin replies with difficulty. "In her final wishes, she left you some of her savings, and she wrote that you were free to take whatever you wanted of hers…"
"I don't want anything. I have the memories of what we shared back then, and I don't want anything more to do with her."
Quentin nods gently despite the harshness of the words, which feel like rejection, even if not aimed at him. The server brings their drinks, providing a welcome distraction from the silence. They drink without speaking, but before Mélanie gets up to pay, Quentin says, "I know we don't know each other, and we'll probably never meet again, but you meant a lot to Aurore, and because of that, I want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to, you can reach out to me. I can give you my number if you'd like."
Mélanie looks him in the eye, caught off guard, before gently declining:
"That's kind of you, but I already have people looking out for me. You're a good person, though. It's good that Aurore met you. But I'm sorry—I can't do anything for you."
"Don't worry about it. I have my friends, too. I'm fine. I'm glad I knew her; she was an amazing person. And I'm glad to see you're doing well."
A bit unsettled, Mélanie nods and takes her leave. Quentin stays in the café a little longer, staring into space. He's not sure it's true that Aurore meeting him was a good thing. Because he let her down. He abandoned her. But he knows that if he has to pay for his mistakes, he can't stop now. He has to keep trying, to redeem himself, even if it won't change anything. He has to learn from his errors and never make the same ones again. He has to do better.
After paying for his drink, he spends a few minutes silently gazing at the black spires of the cathedral, thinking Aurore would have loved the idea of climbing them, before heading to the train station.
The next evening, as he burns the letters Mélanie sent to Aurore, he thinks back to the girl. He's glad she was able to move on, that she seemed to be doing well. Aurore would have wanted her to be healthy. And Quentin… Quentin would have given anything for Aurore to be alive and healthy as well.
15th February 2008
Life continues, though in a somewhat dazed state. Quentin spends his many sleepless nights on the internet, writing on a blog to help those who are struggling or composing long letters that Aurore will never read. His solitude is filled with regrets. He's taken a break with Célia, a break that already feels final. He still loves her, yet, for now, he cannot be with anyone. He needs to rebuild himself, to heal, even though forgetting will never be possible. He studies for his baccalauréat harder than ever before, clinging to his goals for the future. He talks to many people online, but never about himself. He doesn't even share his feelings with those closest to him. He has committed a wrong he knows he can never truly atone for, but he is determined to do everything in his power to try nonetheless. He knows he will keep living, that while the pain won't disappear, it will eventually fade… But nothing will ever be erased. He keeps moving forward, step by step, carrying the burdens of others without revealing his own. He refuses to falter again. He wants to be a rock—solid, unbreakable, capable of enduring and supporting anything.
He works hard on himself, striving constantly to improve. He reads inspiring biographies and tries to develop a personal philosophy of happiness. He gathers positive reflections and truths—or at least, beliefs he wants to hold onto—so he can rely on them and share them with others. He is determined to be good enough next time. And when doubt creeps in, when he begins to question himself, he remembers Aurore. He reminds himself that failure is not an option, and, above all, that he cannot stop.
He also sees their group of friends slowly rebuilding, albeit hesitantly, as the initial shock and pain gradually subside. People remark that it's fortunate they hadn't known Aurore for too long, since they all met her in high school. But does that really matter? Would it have hurt more if they had known her for ten years instead? For Quentin, as for the others, it's hard to picture. It already hurts so much. And the horror they felt—realising how deeply Aurore must have suffered without ever telling them, without them noticing—feels unspeakable enough as it is. (She didn't even really try to hide her arms, at least not all the time. But they never truly addressed it.) Would that horror have been even greater if they had known her for longer?
What also hurts is thinking about all the time they could have had with her. Each of them has their own regrets. Maeva misses her cheerful, whimsical friend, who seemed able to accept anything and was always there to listen. Florian and Élias regret that she didn't confide in them and wonder what more they could have done. Élias especially—who tends to let people do as they please—questions whether, for once, he should have taken the first step, knowing she wasn't doing well. And then there's Quentin, who regrets failing her at the worst possible moment. He knew, and yet he failed.
But they are all rebuilding, each in their own way. There are still, and always will be, moments of silence among them—when they wait for one of Aurore's terrible puns, her playful threats, or her cutting remarks. Their role-playing game characters still guard their gold carefully, as if the group's thief might come back to steal it (she never actually had, but you could never be too careful). As if she weren't gone.
Yet, despite everything, life is taking new shapes for all of them—shapes where Aurore's presence no longer pulls joy into the empty void of her absence.
15thMay 2008
It's been six months since Aurore's death. Quentin is deep in his preparations for the baccalauréat. If all goes well, he'll head to university to study computer science. Ideally, he dreams of working remotely, giving him the freedom to live anywhere he wants. He's been thinking more and more about this, though he's unsure if he truly wants to leave the familiarity of his region. Yet the idea is tempting. He has friends scattered everywhere, thanks to the internet—even abroad. Aurore had dreamed of traveling, of exploring the world. Quentin is certain that life would have suited her perfectly. If only she hadn't thrown away her chance, if only she could have waited a little longer, held on, long enough to spread her wings... She would have soared so high, so free.
Quentin's aspirations are more grounded. He just wants to discover new places, meet people from all walks of life. He also hopes to use the computer science skills he's working to acquire to serve his ideals. He wants to help people, though he's not yet sure how he'll do it.
15thAugust 2008
High school is over for good, both for Quentin and Élias. They've both earned their baccalauréat and are heading down similar academic paths, though they won't attend the same university come fall. Maeva and Florian still have one more year of high school to complete. It will undoubtedly be difficult—Aurore would have been starting her final year alongside them.
To Quentin's surprise, he managed to get his baccalauréat with high honours, despite never being particularly outstanding academically. He owes it to the long months he spent buried in study after Aurore's passing, though he would gladly have failed his exams six times over if it meant she could still be alive.
His relationship with Célia didn't survive in the end, but perhaps that's for the best. Quentin doesn't think he deserves love, nor does he have the time to dedicate to a romantic relationship when so many others are in need of help.
This week, they've escaped the valley to spend time in an old chalet in the mountains that belongs to Élias's family. The natural surroundings are stunning, vibrant with colors made all the more vivid by the pure, clear air. There's no internet, almost no cell signal, mushrooms grow in the shower, and the electricity is unreliable—but they all feel at ease, each in their own way.
They drift around each other, each at their own pace. Quentin is always the first to wake in the morning, leaving the others to sleep while he goes for solitary walks in the forest. Most mornings, he finds a spot he likes and meditates there until he feels ready to head back.
During the day, they play cards, throw knives for fun, explore the trails, and in the evenings they gather for their tabletop role-playing games.
The week feels like a pause outside of time, and when they finally descend back into the rhythm of normal life, Quentin feels a little more prepared for what comes next. He knows they'll see each other less often moving forward, but he's also certain their friendship is strong enough to withstand the distance.
22nd September 2008
"Dear Aurore,
We still miss you, you know? I'm starting my studies this year, I've moved out of my parents' house. I'm going to do a degree in computer science, and you won't believe it, Élias is studying the same thing as me, except he's going for a technical degree at an IUT.
I'm so sorry I couldn't help you. I'm so sorry I let you down. You're missed, by me, by Élias, by Maeva, by Florian. They don't know it's my fault, that I could have saved you.
I broke up with Célia. It's weird to think that last year everything was still normal. But it's no use thinking about the past, the key lies in the future. But you should have been here to see this.
I talk to lots of people online, and sometimes I manage to help them, which makes me happy.
I think that when I finish my studies, I'll travel a bit, I want to see the world. I can imagine living everywhere, especially in Asia, that's also why I'm studying computer science, so I can work from anywhere! But I'm going to have to learn English... What a nightmare!"
Quentin puts down his pen, thoughtful. He's not sure how to end the letter, but then again, who says it needs a conclusion? He smiles, a bit nostalgically, thinking of his lost friend, and the future he is building for himself. He won't forget her. And he will continue to live.
15thNovember 2008
One year since Aurore's death, to the day. He's more distracted than usual today, and in the evening, he goes out to eat with Élias. They don't talk about her, but both of them feel her absence beside them. They spend the evening together, and Quentin exchanges a few texts with Maeva, who feels a little lonely. Florian seems to have forgotten, though that's probably not the case.
When Élias falls asleep, Quentin stays awake a little longer, unable to stop thinking about that night, one year ago. He could have saved her. He will never make such a mistake again. One year already…
And the worst part is knowing that these grim anniversaries will keep coming. Every year, for so long…
23rdAugust 2009
Sometimes, he hates Aurore. Her ghost will never leave him alone. They didn't know each other for long, it's true, but she had more impact on his life than anyone else. When she was doing well, she was amazing. And no matter how she felt, she always knew how to listen.
If only she had lived, if only she had spread her wings, she would have soared so high, she could have gone so far. How wonderful it would have been to witness her flight! If only she had held on, if only she had given herself that chance. If only he had understood the urgency in her voice that night. If only he had made her a priority at that moment. If only he hadn't let her hang up.
And yet, his own life continues. He loves his studies, he loves helping people online, and he continues to look out for his friends. But he doesn't forget. He will never forget.
26thApril 2012
Love had caught him by surprise. He honestly didn't think he was entitled to it, not after what he had done (or hadn't…). He's still not sure he believes he deserves it, but that's not really the point. Because, in the end, life is neutral. You're not congratulated for your good actions, you don't "deserve" anything, neither the good nor the bad. All of that is just human perception. What matters is your own version of what you deserve, what you allow yourself, your own moral compass. And in that context, he's not sure whether he thinks he has a right to love. But as he said, it's not his choice. Because she has a say too. Tessa. A foreign student he met during a trip to England. She was from Germany, studying architecture, while he came from France for a month of immersion. They'd crossed paths by chance in a bar, where he had gone to meet people and push himself to practice English a bit. She had a good grasp of French. That night, and in the following days, his English didn't improve much, but her French did. They kept in touch when he returned home, and she visited him later.
Gradually, she became an important part of his life. She didn't know everything about him, far from it, after all, he kept a lot to himself, something Élias often criticized him for. But Aurore, and the others, less close friends he had lost over the years, that was his burden to bear. His suffering too—how could he help others if they saw him as broken as they were? No, he had to be a solid rock.
Whether he was like stone or not, Tessa had slowly chipped away at his reluctance to be loved, almost without him noticing. If he was the stone, she was the sea. With patience, she had eroded his defenses. She was straightforward and direct, but at the same time knew how to be subtle and persistent. Without him ever telling her, she had understood his fears, had sensed what he wanted, even if he denied it to himself. Happiness. A relationship. And she had offered him that. She made him realize that she too needed it, and that if he couldn't do it for himself, he could do it for her. Because she loved him, and that, he couldn't change. But he could spare her from suffering by accepting her love.
Being with Tessa was very different from being with Célia. She lived in Germany, while he was working on his master's degree in France. They saw each other once a month, sometimes even less often. They spoke every day thanks to the magic of the internet, and that worked for them. They were taking their time. Did she feel that was the way to win his heart? It was very possible. When you don't speak the same language fluently, it takes a lot of empathy and patience to understand each other. She was a little older than him, and worked for an architectural firm in Mannheim, in southwestern Germany. Still, she was determined to join him in France once he graduated, if it wasn't him who would move to be with her. After all, his field of expertise would allow his to work remotely.
21stAugust, 2015
The young man wears a wide smile, mirrored on the face of his companion. Today, they are moving into their new home in Brittany. Tessa and he have just wrapped up a whirlwind year of traveling the world. A vibrant, adventure-filled year, rich in discoveries, and one that has brought them closer together. They started in North America, spending a month gradually making their way from Canada to Mexico, before catching a flight to Asia. That's where they spent most of their time: Thailand, Bangladesh, India, of course, and Indonesia. But most notably, Japan—a country that had always stood out to Quentin, ever since he discovered manga back in middle school.
The journey did him a world of good. Experiencing such vastly different places, feeling the extremes of cold and heat, wet and dry, mingling in ways unfamiliar to Europe. Exploring these diverse cultures, brushing past thousands of lives—each so distinct, foreign, and unique, yet in their essence, the same. He learned so much about himself, the world, and about Tessa too. This trip had cemented their relationship, giving rise to a dynamic that would only grow and evolve with them over time.
The experience also shifted his perspective. He began to see life in a more relative light, embracing the idea that he was just one spark of consciousness among countless others. And most importantly, he resolved to live more for himself. After all, no one else will live his life for him—and he owes it, not only to himself, but also to Tessa, who he's building his life with.
15th November 2015
They're all here. Élias, Florian, and Maeva, with their respective partners. Élias was the first to arrive by train, and Quentin went to pick him up at the station. He's the last one of the group to be single. He came a few days early to spend some quiet time with his best friend. It's with Élias that Quentin has had the most contact over the years. Even though they've seen each other much less often since Quentin left Lyon, Élias and he have always kept in touch, played together, and even started several video game projects, thanks to their shared skills in computer science. Projects that, of course, were never finished. In truth, Quentin hasn't put much effort into maintaining contact. He loves helping people—he has an almost compulsive need to—but when it comes to nurturing friendships… it's more complicated. In some ways, he has to admit that he avoids closeness. He doesn't feel the need to stay close to his friends, contenting himself with reaching out from time to time. There's undoubtedly an element of fear in all of this. The fear that someone might discover who he really is, and also his guilt. He doesn't think he's worth knowing, in a way, and struggles to see himself outside of his role as a protector. At least, that's how it's been for years. He's started to change since then, thanks to a few heated arguments where Élias made his thoughts very clear, but mostly through Tessa's influence. She has truly shaken up his life, and while he still doesn't feel any particular need to socialise, he has at least stopped pushing away every relationship that was becoming too strong for his taste.
Élias and Quentin spent a few fantastic days together. Tessa let them reconnect on their own, pretending she had friends to visit. They played together, coded together, worked on their projects just like they did back when they were students, and they laughed too…
And now they're here, the whole group from sixth form, minus Aurore. The survivors… They're here, and more than one of them wonders what she would have become. Élias and Quentin went into IT, Florian moved into mechanics, and Maeva, after some trial and error, became a shop assistant in an organic store. What would Aurore have become? A writer? Quentin wonders, as he's the only one who truly knew Aurore's passion for writing. A rope access technician? Élias imagines, having recently discovered the job himself and picturing the climber in such an aerial role.
They play a role-playing game that lasts the whole day, a one-shot scenario prepared by Florian. With a twinge of sadness, Élias realises that their game master is still using the equipment that Aurore left behind, lovingly maintained. However, he doesn't spend the session dwelling on that thought, too busy enjoying how everyone's playing style has evolved over time, making the game deeper and less predictable than the players had expected.
Once everyone has left, Quentin still feels the warmth of having spent time with his friends, even if the guilt resurfaces, as it does every time. They still don't know that he bears some responsibility for Aurore's death. They never will. He takes Tessa's hand and goes back into the house, appreciating the calm that has returned to their home.
23rd December 2018, 1:00 PM
Christmas was just around the corner. More than just aware of the date, Quentin could feel it in the cosy warmth of the living room, in the nest of blankets that he and Tessa had set up at the foot of the Christmas tree—decorated simply but still standing—even though they would be celebrating Christmas with his family in the South. He had taken a few days off, taking advantage of the freedom offered by his self-employed status, to make himself available for Tessa. She would be on holiday that evening, and this was the perfect opportunity for him to cook something nice to surprise her. While searching for a recipe on his phone (he had good intentions, but no particular talent when it came to cooking), he received a notification. He'd just gotten an email on his professional address. Out of habit, he clicked on the message, even though he was on holiday.
"Hello,
I'm aware this email might seem strange, but I'm looking for someone who knew a girl named Aurore Berger—her best friend. If you're the person I think you are, could you please reply as soon as possible? It's very important.
Best regards,
Alphonse Bludfire"
Quentin's heart stopped for a moment. He didn't know this man. How had he heard of Aurore? Who was he? Quentin googled the name of his correspondent but found only a sparse Facebook profile. Apparently, the message had been sent by a British boy who was a basketball fan, but that was all he could learn. A strange detail: according to Facebook, he was only sixteen years old. The profile had been active for six years already, so if it were a trap, the person hadn't created the account just to trick him. Of course, it could still be someone entirely different, not on Facebook, but this was the only result his Google search had returned for the name. Honestly, the idea of it being a trap seemed unlikely. What would anyone gain from knowing the name of Quentin's dead best friend? Apart from reopening old wounds, there didn't seem to be much at risk—at least not yet—and he was genuinely curious to know how this boy knew that name and his connection to her. So he replied:
"Hello,
I am the person you were looking for. How do you know this name? How did you get this information? Who are you?
Quentin Lemage"
The moment he clicked "send," Quentin felt ridiculous. It was probably just a bad joke from someone he'd known at school. How could anyone from outside possibly know about his past? He could have thought of that earlier! He didn't have time to pursue the thought further, though, as a new email arrived almost immediately:
"Thank you so much for your quick response. I can't explain how I got this information in writing; I'd prefer to do it face to face, or at least speak to you directly. Could we call? I have Skype if you'd like—my username is 'Basketman_on_fire.' I know this sounds like a scam, but you really need to talk to me, please."
Sceptical, Quentin hesitated to respond to the message, but he needed an explanation. Once again, he weighed the risks and eventually concluded that he had little to lose by accepting his mysterious correspondent's offer. So, he opened Skype and sent a message to Basketman_on_fire. The other replied instantly, once again dodging his questions but suggesting they call immediately. Quentin agreed, determined to get to the bottom of the matter as quickly as possible, and answered as soon as the call came through.
"Hello... I'm Alphonse Bludfire. Thank you so much for replying so quickly!"
The voice was young, tinged with a British accent. Could it really be the guy from the Facebook profile?
"And I'm Quentin, nice to meet you. Are you finally going to explain where you got your information?"
"It's hard to explain just like that, but… Let's just say I have a way of… speaking with your friend."
"You do know she's dead, I hope?"
"… I know, but I can."
"Prove it to me, then. So far, you haven't said anything a determined stalker couldn't have found out."
"I suppose it's normal for you to be sceptical… I know that you were her best friend, and that she was in love with you. I know that she used to self-harm and that she killed herself because of her brother. I know she left you a farewell letter, and that she called you before she died."
It felt like a dagger to the heart—or at least that's how Quentin imagined a dagger wound might feel. By what sorcery did this kid, Alphonse, know all that? How? The first part—he might have discovered it by speaking to people who had known Aurore. It could have been a horrible joke designed to torture him, or maybe someone with a lot of information had given it to this boy to stage a psychic's performance. But the reason for Aurore's suicide? No one knew that, as far as he was aware. And the phone call? Even Célia had never made the connection; it was the secret guilt he had carried for so long.
"Mr Lemage? Quentin? Are you still there?"
His interlocutor's voice reached him, anxious.
"Yes, sorry. I… wasn't expecting you to know as much as you claim to. So you… talk to the dead? Why did you contact me?"
"Let's put it that way for now. I wanted to know if you remembered her. And since you do, I have a question for you."
"I'm listening."
"What would you do if you could speak to her?"
Several answers came to Quentin's mind at once. Apologising would probably be his first reaction. But…
"I can't know, because I can't imagine that situation happening. That's a very personal question. And the answers are even more so. Is that why you contacted me? Because you're a medium and want to put us in touch?"
"It's not exactly that… I know you don't know me at all, that you have no reason to answer me, but it's very important…"
"You've been dodging my question this whole time. How do you know everything you know, if you're not a medium? I'll answer your question if you answer mine."
He needed to know what he was getting himself into before he said any more. Because, ultimately, that might be how this British boy had obtained the information. But it didn't add up, because no one knew about the call, or about Aurore's brother… Or at least, that's what he had believed until now. His interlocutor's voice pulled him out of his thoughts:
"I can tell you, but not over the phone. Would you agree to meet me?"
The request surprised Quentin, but he didn't think for very long.
"Maybe. Where and when?"
"I'm in France for Christmas with my family—we're gathered near Chartres. According to your website, you live in Brittany, is that right?"
"That's right. Near Vannes. It's still quite a drive, though. I'm not keen on making such a long trip without any guarantee."
"Don't worry, I'll come to you. If I leave now, I can be in Vannes this evening—if you're willing to come out and meet me there."
"Today?"
"If you can. It's really vital."
"Are you sure you don't want to explain now? And you insist on doing this today? Why not after Christmas?"
"I can't. I have to go back home to England after, and… the situation… doesn't allow me to wait. Will you agree?"
Quentin sighs, somewhat shocked by how quickly the situation has escalated. He is supposed to spend the evening with Tessa. Does he really want to chase a ghost from the past? The British kid seems genuinely determined, the whole situation is enigmatic, and he has a chance to get to the bottom of it with a simple forty-minute round trip by car. He has never been able to completely forget Aurore, and he owes her that much. So, he replies:
"All right. If you come, I'll meet you."
"Thank you so much. I'll send you a photo of myself so you can recognise me. I'll arrive by train at 18:45. Can we meet in front of the station? My phone doesn't allow me to call in France, but if you give me your number, I could borrow someone's phone if needed."
Quentin gives his number to his interlocutor, wondering if he really is in Chartres and if he will actually do what he's announced. After that, the young man hangs up quickly, saying he needs to catch his train. He doesn't forget to send his photo, and Quentin curiously examines the face he discovers. The boy has blond hair that appears to be tied back in a low ponytail. He has blue eyes, a slightly flattened nose, and looks athletic. He is wearing a hoop earring in his left ear.
Quentin looks at the time. It's two o'clock. He will know soon enough. He tries to go back to looking for a recipe but ends up giving up. Too many things are swirling in his head. It's been a long time since he last felt so unsettled. He sits cross-legged on the living room floor to meditate. He welcomes the thoughts and sensations that pass through him, observes them and lets them drift away, again and again. The guilt. Aurore's face. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have died." Resolution. Determination to never make the same mistake again. Gratitude for what he has learned. Tenderness for Aurore. Nostalgia. Everything comes and goes within him until he is empty, his breathing calms, and his mind settles.
23rd December 2018, late afternoon
When his meditation ends, Quentin feels stable again, ready to face the rest of the day. He is curious about meeting Alphonse. His memories of Aurore, along with his guilt, are still present in his mind, but he is able to set them aside to get on with his tasks. He cleans the house, works a little on the programming of his personal projects (including a chatbot to help people with depression). He cooks for Tessa, anticipating the possibility that he won't be there to welcome her when she gets back from work. Finally, at 6:20 PM, he resigns himself to sending a message to his beloved to let her know he has to make a round trip to Vannes.
The drive goes by quickly, and he arrives at the station on time. He manages to find a spot in the free parking area by chance, as someone pulls out just as he arrives. He hesitates. Where should he wait? In the end, his impatience gets the better of him, and he realises that what Alphonse has stirred up has unsettled him more than he thought it would. He looks at his phone. 6:43 PM. He has a message from Tessa saying she just got home and found the food. She wants to know when he'll be back. He replies that he isn't sure exactly, and that she can eat without him if she's too hungry. It's not what he had planned or wanted, and he feels a bit guilty for letting her down like this. But he can always make it up to her later, and he owes it to Aurore's memory to at least make sure he isn't missing something important.
6:51 PM. The train must be late. Or maybe Alphonse won't come. Quentin hesitates about what to do when he notices the flow of people intensifying in front of the station. A train must have arrived. He keeps waiting, eyes fixed on the exit, searching for the blond hair of his mysterious contact—if he even exists. The crowd eventually begins to thin, and that's when Quentin spots him. It's his slightly lost expression that catches his attention. The boy looks a lot like his photo. He's wearing jeans and tracksuit bottoms paired with a winter coat—nothing unusual. Quentin approaches him, their eyes meet, and after a moment's hesitation, the young man starts walking towards him.
"Good evening, are you Quentin Lemage?"
"That's me."
The boy smiles with relief and holds out his hand for Quentin to shake.
"Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming. Um… maybe we could go somewhere quieter? I've… got something to show you, but I'd be taking too big a risk doing it in public."
"If you like…," Quentin agrees, though the boy still seems just as suspicious. "Do you have somewhere in mind?"
"Anywhere, really—just somewhere a bit empty. I can start explaining in the car, I mean, you did come by car, right?"
"Yes. All right then. Follow me."
oOo
They both settle into the car, and Quentin starts driving without really knowing where he's taking them. By reflex, he heads toward his house, deciding he'll just stop in a field once they've left the city.
"I'm listening," he says calmly once he's made his decision.
"You're probably going to have a hard time believing me, but I'll prove what I'm saying once we get to the quiet place I mentioned. In the meantime, whether or not you decide to help me, I need you to swear never to tell anyone what I'm about to reveal. I'm taking a big risk doing this, even if it's necessary."
"You need my help? Why?"
"I'll explain. But I need your promise first."
"This is starting to feel like a lot of mysteries. But okay, you've got it—as long as keeping this secret doesn't put anyone in danger."
The boy laughs, though it's not a joyful sound.
"Trust me, the danger will only come if you talk. Do you know the Harry Potter book series?"
Thrown off by the sudden change of subject, Quentin takes a second to answer.
"Uh, yeah… but I don't see the connection."
"I know you're not going to believe me, but listen to me all the way through before you say anything, if you can. Magic exists. The Harry Potter books tell a true story. I'm a wizard."
Without letting Quentin interrupt, the young British man unravels a story that's strange, to say the least. He claims to study at Hogwarts, in his sixth year, and to have met a girl, Vivian-Éris, who is none other than Aurore reincarnated. Or not exactly reincarnated, but whose soul was transferred into a new body by a dark wizard at the time of her suicide (or rather, attempted suicide, according to Alphonse). The young man's voice breaks slightly as he describes the night she tried to kill herself and when he learned her entire story. He speaks with a mix of anger and pain about the scars he's seen on her body, the ones she inflicted on herself. He finishes by explaining the measures he and his friends have taken to watch over her, finally revealing the reason for his presence: the deep attachment Aurore still feels toward Quentin and his friends' hope that seeing him again might make her abandon her thoughts of death.
At some point during Alphonse's story, Quentin parked the car on a small dirt road, both so his companion could demonstrate the promised magic (because that's what the proof is, right?) and also to fully focus on what he was being told. A lot of things are swirling through Quentin's head. He's always had a certain attraction to spirituality. Without delving into fortune-telling or astrology, he's always believed, somewhere deep down, that certain invisible forces exist—perhaps spirits of nature. Reincarnation was something he'd always considered plausible, though he couldn't quite explain it. But what he's hearing today is different. He doesn't know how much credence to give to Alphonse's claims. What's certain is that the boy believes everything he's saying. The suffering etched onto his face is authentic.
"…That's why I need to know if you still care about her. If you'd be willing to help us. That's why I came. We don't know what to do anymore. We don't want to betray her by telling the adults about her, but losing her would be even worse. We won't be able to watch over her like this forever… She's one of my dearest friends—I can't lose her!"
Quentin stays silent for a few seconds, sensing the growing impatience in his companion.
"That's a lot," he finally admits after a few more seconds. "I'd like to see the magic demonstration now, and then I'll decide."
Without hesitation, the boy pulls a slender wand out of his coat pocket while nodding. He hesitates for half a second, then says, "Lumos." His wand lights up. Then, aiming at a rock on the path, he says, "Wingardium Leviosa," making a precise movement with his wand. The rock begins to levitate. Quentin rubs his eyes. While he may believe in certain supernatural forces, he still lives in a rational world, and he wasn't ready for this. Alphonse finally turns to him with a look full of hope.
"Do you believe me now?" Overcome by emotion, the British man has slipped into addressing him as tu.
"I believe you…" Quentin sighs. "It's going to take me some time to accept, but I can hardly deny what I just saw. So your plan is to have me see Aurore and talk to her?"
Both pretend not to notice Quentin's voice falter over his former best friend's name. Alphonse scratches his head awkwardly.
"Said like that, I know it doesn't sound brilliant, but it's the only idea we've had. Would you agree?"
"Alphonse, if she's alive, I would beg you to let me see her again. I never thought I'd have a chance to make things right. I don't know if it'll really help, but it's not a miracle I can pass up!"
The boy looks at Quentin with relief.
"Thank you so much. We don't know yet when we're going to arrange it; it has to be before the end of our holidays. I need to check with the others how we'll do it. I think Ewald's family can get us a Portkey—it's a magical object that allows long-distance travel—but I'm not sure how precise it'll be."
"Honestly, I'll have a hard time freeing myself before the 26th, but I'll do whatever it takes to see Aurore again. As long as you can bring her to France, I'll make it work."
"I'll keep you updated through the internet anyway. I'm stuck here until the 26th since I have to spend Christmas with my family… But I'll write to Ewald tonight to tell him what happened. Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me. I'm the one who's grateful."
Quentin glances at his watch. It's already 9 p.m.
"Were you planning to go home tonight? Do you have a way back?"
"I don't know, I'll figure it out. My priority was talking to you, and I can use magic to get a train ticket if I need to. I guess I should take care of that now—unless you have more questions?"
"Not for now… I think I need some time to process all of this. But let me check online if there are still trains, okay?"
Alphonse nods, and Quentin taps at his phone for a moment.
"Do you have a backup plan? Because the last train left five minutes ago."
"Fuck," Alphonse mutters simply.
Quentin hesitates briefly, then offers:
"You can come sleep at my place if you want. I just need to check with my girlfriend, but it shouldn't be a problem."
"Seriously?"
Quentin nods in response.
"I'd really appreciate that… It's super nice of you. But only if it doesn't cause any trouble; otherwise, I can figure something out with magic."
"Don't worry, I'll talk to Tessa. I'll tell her you're a friend of mine from the internet who needs a place to stay for the night—it should be fine. Wait here in the car; I'll call her."
oOo
Tessa is understanding, though Quentin can sense her disappointment. She seems to suspect he's hiding something, but for now, she lets it slide—something Quentin is deeply grateful for. He heads back to the car, explaining to his passenger that it's all good for him to stay. During the drive, they avoid the topic of Aurore by unspoken agreement, and Quentin takes the opportunity to ask the young man questions about the wizarding world. Alphonse answers as best as he can.
The journey passes quickly, and when they arrive at the house, Tessa comes to greet them.
"Good evening, Schatzi!"
"Good evening!"
Quentin replies, kissing his beloved. Alphonse averts his gaze slightly, looking vaguely embarrassed, but greets Tessa once the adults' embrace has ended.
"Hello, madam, thank you for letting me stay here tonight."
"Oh, call me Tessa! You're not the first friend of Quentin's I've met! But you're not French, are you?"
"I'm actually British!"
"Oh, that's wonderful! Which city do you live in? I lived in Liverpool for a few months, that's where I met Quentin, did he tell you that?"
Tessa has switched to English, and their guests answers in his native language:
"I'm from Oxford. And no, he didn't, but we didn't have much time to talk about it." Alphonse answers with a smile.
"That's it, go ahead, pretend I'm not here," Quentin grumbles, not unkindly.
"I know you understand everything we're saying!"
"I have a bit of trouble with Alphonse's accent," Quentin grimaces. "No offense!"
"No problem, I speak French anyway!" Alphonse replies. "By the way, you have an accent too, Tessa. Where are you from?"
"Oh, I'm German. But maybe we should head inside now, shouldn't we? It's a bit chilly out here."
Everyone agrees, and Quentin follows the small group inside, pleased with the warm welcome his girlfriend has given them. She and Alphonse continue chatting, occasionally slipping into English, and the young man is glad not to have to participate in the conversation, preferring to let his thoughts roam. He's a little concerned that Alphonse might inadvertently reveal his true nature as a wizard at first, but he handles himself very well. Quentin figures he must be used to this sort of thing. They even play a couple of board games before heading to bed, and Quentin tries to be more present in the moment.
Once they're alone in their bedroom, he lies down without delay, but Tessa doesn't follow. Instead, she moves around the bed to sit near him. He sits up. He had hoped to avoid having this conversation so soon.
"Do you want to tell me what's bothering you now, or should I just skip sleep until you take pity on me?"
The young man sighs.
"I can't tell you much; it involves secrets that aren't mine."
"Maybe start with what you can tell me? This boy, Alphonse, you haven't known him long, am I right?"
"No… I met him today. He had… information… about a very dear friend… who I didn't know was still alive. And that's information that changes a lot of things for me."
Tessa falls silent for a moment, as though respecting the pain she senses in her partner. Eventually, her curiosity gets the better of her.
"How did you meet this friend?"
"I can't tell you."
Her brow furrows in surprise.
"That's where we start touching on secrets that aren't mine to share. I have a lot to think about. What Alphonse told me means a lot for me. I might be a bit less available than I would've liked in the coming days."
She makes a small grimace, quickly repressed, and gently runs her hand through her hair.
"You'd better make it up to me later, then! And talk to me, okay? Without betraying the secrets you're protecting, but I'm here for you, alright?"
"I know, darling," Quentin replies with a tender smile.
25th December 2018, 22:58
The festivities went off without a hitch, as far as Quentin could judge despite his distraction. Since Alphonse had returned to his family, since he had told him the truth, in fact, a part of the young man had always been elsewhere. Thinking and rethinking about what he had learned, turning his memories over and over. Wondering what he had done wrong, and what he could make up for. Wondering if she would really remember him. If it was worth it. Wondering what he was going to do with all of this, what place he wanted to give to this reunion. These concerns did not disturb his calm, but they occupied him. He meditated more than usual to recharge himself.
The meeting is scheduled for the 27th, in Vannes. They are to meet at a small café where Tessa often goes. Apparently, Alphonse will come with Aurore, as well as two friends of theirs. They are all involved and aware of the true identity of his lost friend. The choice of the location might not be ideal, too public, but Tessa will be at home and might ask questions. Also, they decided not to rush Aurore, to let her decide if she wants to move the meeting to a more intimate setting if she feels ready. And also, cynically, they said that she would be less suspicious in a public place, and that it would be harder for her to kill herself.
He had long planned to meet Élias on the 29th to celebrate the New Year with him, and now he wonders if it's a good idea to keep that appointment. However, he doesn't dare cancel it, as it might intrigue him. And then, it might do him good to see his best friend, whatever happens on the 27th.
27th December 2018, 9:30
It took him a good quarter of an hour to decide what to wear this morning, which normally never happens. He's not the type to care about his appearance. He hesitated, but he even shaved. It makes him look much younger, and it brings him closer to the appearance he had when he and Aurore knew each other. Tessa seemed surprised to see him appear like that, but didn't ask him anything, simply purring as he passed, telling him she liked him like that before stealing a kiss. She had let him go without knowing exactly what he was up to, only knowing that something important for him was going to happen today. He didn't have the words to say how much the trust she gave him was precious and touched him.
He is seated at the café where they are supposed to meet. He's early. By an hour. At the same time, he wouldn't miss this meeting for the world. He decides to meditate to pass the time and calm down, only to be interrupted by the server bringing his order. He decided to order anyway; he couldn't say he was waiting for friends for so long… His glass of syrup remains untouched on the table as he immerses himself back in his meditation. He's apprehensive about the upcoming meeting. Will he recognise his friend? After all, if Alphonse is telling the truth, she is now an eleven-year-old girl. So, will the words be enough? Won't it be strange?
The day before, he spent some time rereading her letters, before giving up. It's too hard, and anyway, those words belong to the past. It's enough for him to know that they belong to him too. Seeing them again stirs too many things, far too late. Today, he will meet someone else. The person who wrote those lines is dead, and even if she still exists, she will have changed. But how much? Not that much, perhaps, according to Alphonse. Not that much, perhaps, if he listens to his heart, because he himself has always kept a place for her, even as he moved forward in his life.
She doesn't know that she will see him again. He dreads her reaction. Her friends seem to have put a lot of hope in him, but he wonders if he will live up to it, even just a little. They know, they must know that he let her die. It's ironic that they now rely on him to save her.
A few minutes before the scheduled time of the meeting, meditation is no longer enough. He is filled with doubts, mixed feelings, his heart has not known such chaos since he met Tessa, or maybe even since his school years. He scans the passerbys, looking for the group he is waiting for, where he will only recognise Alphonse anyway.
27th December 2018, 10:30
He sees Alphonse before the latter spots him. He has time to observe the two young people with him, a little too well-dressed. The first one looks a bit like him, as he was when he was younger, with his curly, chestnut hair and a gentle smile on his face. The second one is different. He wears his black hair neatly styled, quite long, and has a focused expression. He is holding the hand of a child. Her, he recognises without having ever seen her before. Like Aurore, she has very short hair, but black. Her attitude, her walk, are not unfamiliar to him, and he knows that it is her, Vivian-Éris. But is Vivian-Éris really Aurore?
The group is now only a few metres away. Alphonse has spotted him and waves at him with a big smile, perhaps a little nervous. He returns the wave without taking his eyes off the child accompanying the British group. She looks at him now, since Alphonse has drawn her attention to him. She looks at him, and she pales. Their eyes meet, and they recognise each other. She freezes for a moment. She stammers something in English, and suddenly she pulls her hand away from her companion's and runs off.
What do you think of Quentin, after this chapter? What do you think will happen next?
Reviews?
See you next time!