The next day's night had arrived unannounced. One of those nights where the darkness doesn't feel like a coat, but like a low ceiling you can't lift.

Marcel settled into bed, but couldn't close his eyes. Sometimes, your head isn't heavy because of what's inside, but because of what it can't let go of. Miss Alice came to say goodnight, with her usual steaming cup of tea and her careful smile.

"Is everything all right, dear?" -Miss Alice asked in a soft winter voice.

He hesitated. Then he nodded, but it wasn't true.

"Belle-mère... can I ask you something?" -Marcel said.

"Sure." -Miss Alice nodded.

"Do you think those who disappear... come back?"

Miss Alice stopped. Not in her steps. In her soul.

"Who do you miss?" -Miss Alice said, although she already sensed it.

He looked down.

"My sister, Cassandra. I miss her too much." -Marcel said.

There was a silence that wasn't awkward, but it was dense. He continued:

"When I was a boy… I had a daddy. And two uncles. They were rare. Noisy. Un peu fous, included. But good people. My sister and I loved them, and... she loved me in special. They used to teach us silly songs… things like that. Until… one day, ils sont partis. They disappeared. They left me with her." -Marcel said.

Miss Alice didn't ask who she was. There was no need to.

"She didn't love me. She said I was useless. That I spoke strangely. That I made up people. That Cassandra didn't exist." -Marcel said, with a big knot in his throat. "But I know she does exist. That she's somewhere. Waiting for me."

Miss Alice sat on the edge of the bed. Not to comfort him, but to confess something.

"When I was thirteen, there was a fire in my house. A huge mansion, full of rooms I never knew what they were for. One night, the fire danced through them all. My parents died. My sister… well, she managed to get out. I did too. But I got out alone. And from then on, I understood that things are lost. That life doesn't wait. That hope isn't always real." -Miss Alice said, like someone taking a sealed box out of the back of a closet.

He swallowed.

"So... I shouldn't expect anything?" -Marcel said, worried.

Miss Alice looked at him. For the first time, her gaze wasn't steady. It was… shaky. Old... and gonest.

"Not usually. But with you… with you it's different. I don't know why. But it is. You will see her again." -Miss Alice said, with a drop of hope.

Marcel didn't know what to say.

"Good night, darling," -Miss Alice said, stroking his hair. "And if you dream... let it be of things that never fade."

He turned off the light. She closed the door. He pretended to fall asleep.

He waited a few minutes. Then he stood up, barefoot, moving with the care of someone who doesn't want to wake up even on the stairs. He reached the window. The sky was clear. The wishing star twinkled, solitary.

He started to sing something. Like, a distant lullaby. One that his mind has left hidden for many years and that he decided to sing in a sweet voice. And then, he felt it. Not as a physical presence. But as something calling him from his chest.

Cassandra.

The image appeared like a reflection in the glass. She, standing. Silent. Smiling with her eyes. She said nothing. Neither did he. There was no need. They embraced. In the reflection... In the mind... In the soul... And for a moment, all was peace. A brief, eternal instant.

Miss Alice got up when she heard distant footsteps.

She found Marcel on the terrace, asleep, standing in front of the railing, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

Shattered, but very, very shattered, she held him by the shoulders.

"Oh, my boy…" -Miss Alice said, in the verge of breaking on tears.

She carried him in her arms, like when he was younger. She carried him to his bed and tucked him in. Before leaving, she watched him sleep. And she thought something she didn't say out loud before closing the door:

"I hope this world doesn't break you."

"Not you."