- Old man... what story do you mean by...
- Honorable gentelmen, I see you are both startled by what I said. But if I'm not mistaken, one of you is related to Miss Frances?
They looked at each other, then the governor said : - I ... I am her half-brother. No one knows this... how did you ...
(- Half brother! - thought the man in bed - how could I not see that!)
- Well it's not exactly unknown to me, sir, if you allow... you know me for as long as I live here, do you recall ?
- Oh, yes... you've been the village elder since before I became the governor.
- You've been very protective of this entire domain, and very just to people... it is time that we repay you for what you've done for us.
- It's because... I was born and raised here, I know what will happen if I don't keep the balance on the hardships.
Memories of the years past are still alive.
- I also remember Miss Frances as a young maid coming here - the old man started saying something, but was interrupted by the door being flung open by someone. It was dark outside, so they could not see, but the old man recognized the figure and said - oh we've just been talking about you, Miss.
She stepped over the threshold, and they saw her, covered in water plants and dripping wet, with an angry expression on her face. She looked at the figure laid in bed, her expression eased off a little as she approached the bed.
- It actually worked... - she said - I should thank you... since you seem to be pretty badly now...
He produced a faint smile on his pale face and said : - Thank you for your trust...
The Author looked at half-written page in front of him, then at the pages of notes scattered around on the desk. He put the pen down, touched his forehead, stood up from his chair and stretched. Then he navigated out from behind the desk and directed himself to the drinks cupboard. Poured himself some whisky, aired it in the glass, stuck his nose into it, inhaled, then poured into his mouth, swallowed and exhaled.
He was worried. The page he was currently trying to write, was not coming up, he couldn't feel it as well as he felt the other ones. Maybe it's just momentary lapse of imagination, he thought.
He approached the window, and lifted the sash . The flow of fresh air refreshed the room;
It was to be the chapter, where he has to mix in most of his backers' ideas.
Suddenly, he felt tired by the whole experience.
He realized, he was feeling guilt.
The research notes, the trial documents, his own notes from travels around the Isles, and personal accounts of people involved were scattered all over his desk.
* * *
I wish I wouldn't have do that
Who are you...
You have a choice now: Do what your backers told you, erase the true story, give life to the sad one
Who ... are ... you ... you ... ah! I know ! you're that... woman! The one the story is about...
Or stand against them, embrace my story, help me bring the truth to light
But... I will lose my story either way
There is no other choice
Yes there is! It doesn't have to be this bad! No there is not! How can you tell? Because this is now my story! Your life will be in danger! Why do you care ? I only ...
Can you handle it ?
Is that why you're worried?
I'm worried because the time seems to be running out
Yes... they are coming here sooner or later.
They are after me now ?
They sensed your hesitation.
* * *
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