Sequel of Love at Dawn
Edith survived the tempest of the Revolution. Just when she believed she would spend her remaining days amidst the mist-shrouded Irish mountains, an unexpected person reappeared, once again stirring ripples in her life. As pas...
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"Andre..."
In that moment of recognising that most familiar face, Edith involuntarily took a step back, feeling as though she might faint at any moment. But this time, it wasn't out of fear; it was sorrow that overwhelmed her.
"Good heavens, you still look the same as you did over a decade ago..." her voice quivered. "I witnessed your death with my own eyes. Who are you... really? What are you?"
The person before her slowly raised his arm, reaching out towards her. He seemed to want to draw closer, yet hesitated, unsure of whether to proceed.
Edith suddenly lunged forward, embracing him tightly around the waist, burying her head against his chest. With a mixture of excitement and despair, she cried out, her voice muffled,"Ah, but forgive me! I love you! Even if you are a ghost or a demon, what does it matter? I still love you!"
He also appeared deeply moved by her reaction, hesitatingly lifting his own arms and finally embracing her body in return.
A sudden, intense clap of thunder sounded nearby, and the first raindrops began to fall, drenching their clothes. Their souls permeated each other in their embrace, nearly dissolving within the depths of this profound darkness.
After a while, Andre spoke:
"Do not fear me. I did not die, Edith. I'm still alive."
She looked up at him, puzzled, her eyes searching his.
He let out a sigh and told her,"The person you saw all those years ago... it wasn't me."
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Edith took a seat across from her former lover, casting upon him a gaze filled with eagerness and sentiment.
Andre gazed at the flickering candle flame on the low table that separated them, slowly beginning his recollection:
It was late at night on the ninth of Thermidor. I sat in the solitary cell of the prison, listening to the relentless tolling of the clock outside, cruelly reminding me of the impending death that awaited me.
In the final moments of my life, I struggled to maintain the composure and fortitude displayed by my unfortunate friends. However, my yearning and reluctance for you shattered me. Alas, Edith, I couldn't control the weakness that overcame me!
The torrential rain outside had yet to cease. A dazzling flash of lightning penetrated through the prison cell's air vent, revealing a surreal sight before my eyes: it seemed as though my very soul was drifting towards me from a distance. In that hazy state of half-sleep, I began to doubt whether I had long departed this world, merely forgetting my own circumstances.
But as that figure drew near the iron bars, I recognised him as Raphael Saint-Clemont.
In that first instant, I experienced an illusion akin to gazing into a mirror — he and I bore such a striking resemblance, a fact that had somehow eluded my notice before.
