Raindrops pattered against the stained-glass windows of the small chapel. Amid the soft drizzle, the two people separated by half a century continued their conversation.
Considering where the conversation was heading, Shade spoke again:
"Come to think of it, I'm curious. Why wasn't Mr. Wosente buried with the rest of the Wosente Family? Why were you the one—"
Shade paused at just the right moment.
"When he wanted to marry me, the entire family opposed it. At our wedding, Old Earl Watsont said that when my husband died, he could forget about being buried in the Wosente Family graveyard. That summer was as hot as this one. He was the earl's son, while I was merely a girl from the Tobesk slums. So many years have passed."
The old woman's eyes widened, and her eyes grew moist. Ghost Mr. Wosente, meanwhile, showed no expression. Shade did not know whether that was because his incomplete soul lacked emotion or because he was deliberately concealing it.
That love story from nearly half a century ago, a story between a young man and woman, was probably even more dramatic than the Murder Case that followed. But no matter what, even the sweetest love would eventually sour with time. Perhaps some people could preserve their love, but the old couple before him had failed to do so.
There were truly far too many stories in this unfamiliar world. Everything he had seen this afternoon was merely a glimpse into one corner of the world for the Outlander. He could not witness every story, nor could he judge this love. It was someone else's story.
"Do you dream of him?"
The Outlander asked softly. The old woman, lost in memory and the past, nodded gently.
"Countless times. I dreamed of us meeting on the streets