In this chap­ter, set in the stark Arc­tic land­scape, the cold of the next day is a famil­iar touch­stone for the crew of the *Ere­bus*. Despite the bit­ing chill, the stew­ards are busy dry­ing laun­dry on the rig­ging, while Gore opts for leather breech­es under wool as a pre­cau­tion against the ele­ments. The chap­ter vivid­ly details the dis­ori­ent­ing effects of the sun reflect­ing off the ice—turning the vast empti­ness into a place where move­ments can inspire hal­lu­ci­na­tions, mak­ing mun­dane objects appear threat­en­ing.

Gore prefers soli­tary hunt­ing in this harsh envi­ron­ment, pre­fer­ring to immerse him­self in the moment, becom­ing a sim­ple embod­i­ment of instinct and focus. Rec­ol­lect­ing a ten-hour stint on the ice a decade prior—where he bat­tled extreme cold and isolation—he reflects on his endurance and the sub­se­quent toll it took on his body. Now, old­er and phys­i­cal­ly dimin­ished, he finds soli­tude a sweet reprieve from the bur­dens of com­pan­ion­ship.

On his soli­tary per­am­bu­la­tion, he shoots a cou­ple of par­tridges, their mea­ger meat hard­ly worth the effort. His quest for wildlife remains unful­filled, as he encoun­ters noth­ing more stim­u­lat­ing than the stark empti­ness of the ter­rain. Thirst becomes his deci­sive fac­tor for return­ing, lead­ing him through the frozen land­scape piled high like a ruined tem­ple.

As he tra­vers­es the inhos­pitable ter­rain of King William Land, he is remind­ed of etch­ings he has seen, which sim­pli­fy the com­plex and treach­er­ous details of the Arc­tic. The real­i­ty he faces is fraught with chal­leng­ing pres­sure ridges that impede his jour­ney back to the ship. Gore is aware of an impend­ing storm that threat­ens as he strug­gles toward safe­ty.

His men­tal state is one of calm accep­tance. Life on the edge of sur­vival doesn’t com­pel him to dra­ma­tize per­il. When Fitz­james inquires about his lack of fear or hope, Gore’s response encap­su­lates his stark prag­ma­tism: rec­og­niz­ing love as per­haps the great­est cat­a­stro­phe. As the winds sharp­en and fatigue sets in, he becomes hyper-focused, mov­ing through the snow like a mechan­i­cal process, mind­less­ly push­ing for­ward. Even­tu­al­ly, he spots a seal near a hole in the ice, instinc­tive­ly draw­ing his gun and fir­ing, elic­it­ing a sound that hor­ri­fies him, echo­ing human­i­ty amid the wilder­ness .

On a late July evening in New York City, Addie awak­ens in a sub­way car, com­fort­ed by Hen­ry beside her. They’ve just returned from a day out and decide to spend their few remain­ing hours togeth­er, hes­i­tant­ly cling­ing to each oth­er amidst Addie’s deep­er anx­i­eties of wait­ing for some­one she yearns for from her past. Despite Hen­ry prepar­ing to leave for the night, Addie con­vinces him to stay, lead­ing them to vis­it a local bar named the Mer­chant to extend their seam­less day into the night.

At the Mer­chant, they play­ful­ly declare they’re cel­e­brat­ing their “three hun­dred” anniver­sary, indulging in the dis­ori­ent­ed, dream­like state brought on by their long day in the sun. The empha­sis on their shared new expe­ri­ences, like danc­ing and enjoy­ing the night, under­scores both the beau­ty and the tran­sient nature of their con­nec­tion. How­ev­er, this seam­less evening takes a dra­mat­ic turn when an unex­pect­ed gift – a glass of Cham­pagne intend­ed for Addie, accom­pa­nied by a note in French – sig­nals the intru­sion of some­one from Addie’s dis­tant past.

Pan­ic ensues as the bar halts to a sur­re­al stand­still, with every patron frozen in time except for Addie, Hen­ry, and the arrival of Luc, a fig­ure from Addie’s past who appears unaf­fect­ed by the pas­sage of decades. Luc’s casu­al demeanor and his cryp­tic remarks hint at a com­plex and trag­ic his­to­ry with Addie, sug­gest­ing a super­nat­ur­al influ­ence over her life and her con­nec­tions with oth­ers, includ­ing Hen­ry. As Luc’s atten­tion turns to Hen­ry, the inter­ac­tion sug­gests a tense tri­an­gle fraught with deals made, desires manip­u­lat­ed, and time itself being a weapon of con­trol and con­flict.

This chap­ter com­bines ele­ments of romance, mys­tery, and the super­nat­ur­al, set­ting the stage for a nar­ra­tive deeply root­ed in per­son­al his­to­ry, time­less con­nec­tions, and the strug­gles of main­tain­ing agency over one’s fate and rela­tion­ships. The serene, ephemer­al qual­i­ty of Addie’s time with Hen­ry con­trasts sharply with the dark, loom­ing pres­ence of Luc, encap­su­lat­ing a moment that blurs the lines between day and night, past and present, free­dom and fate.

In the bustling ambiance of The Last Word, nes­tled with­in New York City on a dis­tinc­tive day in March 2014, Addie lounges in a cor­ner, her eyes trac­ing the inter­ac­tions between Hen­ry and the patrons with a con­tem­pla­tive gaze. This chap­ter art­ful­ly con­veys the nuanced dynam­ics of obser­va­tion and intro­spec­tion, weav­ing a nar­ra­tive where Addie reflects on the pecu­liar vis­i­bil­i­ty of things—or persons—once they enter one’s aware­ness, likened to sud­den­ly notic­ing pur­ple ele­phants every­where post-men­tion. Hen­ry, bound by a pecu­liar deal, becomes the sub­ject of such focused atten­tion, cap­ti­vat­ing those around him with an effort­less charis­ma that Addie, despite her exten­sive life expe­ri­ences marked by loss­es and tran­sient joys, finds her­self immune to envy but sen­si­tive to the nuances of their con­nec­tion.

The chap­ter paints a vivid pic­ture of their evolv­ing rela­tion­ship through small, yet sym­bol­ic moments—like the choice to wear paint-splat­tered boots as memen­tos, or the gen­tle inter­ac­tion as they pre­pare to leave the book­store. Their ensu­ing con­ver­sa­tion, brim­ming with an under­cur­rent of search for nov­el­ty and shared expe­ri­ences, pro­pels them towards the bustling ener­gy of Grand Cen­tral. Here, Henry’s intent to sur­prise Addie with “some­thing new” encap­su­lates the heart of their dynam­ics: a shared quest for dis­cov­ery against the back­drop of Addie’s exten­sive, yet seem­ing­ly exhaust­ed, cat­a­logue of expe­ri­ences.

The cul­mi­na­tion of their evening adven­ture in the archi­tec­tur­al mar­vel of Grand Cen­tral, specif­i­cal­ly beneath a con­stel­la­tion of arch­es, is emblem­at­ic of Henry’s desire to unveil hid­den won­ders with­in the famil­iar. Addie’s skep­ti­cal com­pli­ance, fol­lowed by Henry’s mys­te­ri­ous guid­ance to lis­ten against the wall, serves as a poignant metaphor for their rela­tion­ship and Addie’s journey—a blend of skep­ti­cism, dis­cov­ery, and the pur­suit of moments that tran­scend the ordi­nary, framed by the city’s icon­ic set­tings.

This chap­ter skill­ful­ly nav­i­gates themes of con­nec­tion, dis­cov­ery, and the ephemer­al nature of expe­ri­ences and rela­tion­ships against the time­less back­drop of New York City. It invites the read­er into a reflec­tive explo­ration of how new per­spec­tives can trans­form the mun­dane into the mag­i­cal, through the inter­play of his­to­ry, per­son­al jour­neys, and the end­less pur­suit of moments that linger in mem­o­ry, much like the indeli­ble flecks of paint on Addie’s boots.

In the heart of New York City, on March 18, 2014, Hen­ry finds him­self cap­ti­vat­ed by Addie, a woman whose pres­ence is unde­ni­ably mag­net­ic. With­in the con­fines of his book­store, Addie trans­forms into more than just anoth­er soul; she embod­ies sto­ries, laugh­ter, and an inde­fin­able warmth that lights up the room. Her self-appoint­ment to restock­ing and reshelv­ing books brings a new life to the space, as she shares tales of her expe­ri­ences, touch­ing upon her encoun­ters with famous writ­ers and her pro­found con­nec­tion with lit­er­a­ture.

Despite refer­ring to her­self as a ghost, Addie is any­thing but invis­i­ble to Hen­ry. Her move­ments among the book­shelves, her quick­sil­ver smiles, and the depth of her gaze make it impos­si­ble for him to look away. Her sto­ries, fla­vored with hints of sor­row and long­ing, reveal a woman who has lived through count­less sto­ries, each book whis­per­ing a part of her jour­ney.

Their inter­ac­tions, punc­tu­at­ed by the curi­ous affec­tion of Book, the cat, and the exchange of heart­felt glances, hint at an under­stand­ing that tran­scends the usu­al cus­tomer-work­er dynam­ic. Addie, with her clear, brown eyes, becomes a bea­con for Hen­ry, bright­en­ing his world with her smile and cast­ing it into shad­ows with her absence.

Hen­ry’s own pas­sion comes to light dur­ing a con­ver­sa­tion about pho­tog­ra­phy, reveal­ing his tal­ent and the bit­ter­sweet real­iza­tion that pho­tographs, much like moments, are mere frag­ments of truth, shaped by the lens through which they are cap­tured. He reflects on the decep­tive nature of hap­pi­ness in pho­tographs, the fleet­ing moments they rep­re­sent, and how, despite his love for the art, he ceased pur­su­ing pho­tog­ra­phy, feel­ing as if he had fall­en too far behind to ever catch up.

This chap­ter not only delves into the com­plex­i­ties of mem­o­ry, per­cep­tion, and the art of cap­tur­ing moments but also illus­trates how two souls, seem­ing­ly adrift, find anchor­age in each oth­er’s sto­ries. Addie and Hen­ry’s bur­geon­ing rap­port, set against the back­drop of a quaint New York book­store, is a tes­ta­ment to the endur­ing pow­er of con­nec­tion, the beau­ty of shared expe­ri­ences, and the time­less quest for under­stand­ing in a world that often feels tran­sient and elu­sive.

In the heart of Paris, July 29, 1724, Remy Lau­rent and Ade­line (Addie) share a day filled with laugh­ter and cama­raderie as they mean­der through Mont­martre, engag­ing in play­ful ban­ter with locals and savor­ing moments on the Sacré Coeur steps. Remy, with his gold­en hair and youth­ful exu­ber­ance, presents a stark con­trast to Addie’s oth­er com­pan­ions, embody­ing a radi­ant sim­plic­i­ty and real­ness that cap­ti­vates her. In an inti­mate exchange, Addie, reluc­tant­ly adopt­ing the name “Anna” due to her inabil­i­ty to reveal her true iden­ti­ty, shares a veiled ver­sion of her journey—a nar­ra­tive of escape and free­dom that draws admi­ra­tion from Remy for her per­ceived courage.

As dusk gives way to night, their con­nec­tion deep­ens, and Remy’s offer to escort Addie home evolves into a mutu­al deci­sion to extend their time togeth­er. This leads them to Remy’s res­i­dence, where the antic­i­pa­tion of inti­ma­cy replaces the jovi­al­i­ty of their ear­li­er inter­ac­tions. Their encounter, marked by ten­der­ness and mutu­al desire, diverges from Addie’s past expe­ri­ences, offer­ing her a moment of gen­uine con­nec­tion and plea­sure untaint­ed by oblig­a­tions or the stark real­i­ty of her curse.

The morn­ing after reveals the cru­el twist of Addie’s exis­tence. Remy, devoid of the mem­o­ries of their heart­felt encoun­ters, regards her as a stranger, undo­ing the inti­ma­cy they shared with a mis­placed ges­ture of pay­ment. Heart­bro­ken and dis­il­lu­sioned, Addie departs with a keep­sake of their night together—a book by Voltaire—leaving behind a moment in time where she near­ly for­got her cursed real­i­ty. This chap­ter intri­cate­ly explores themes of tran­sient con­nec­tions, the poignant search for iden­ti­ty and belong­ing, and the harsh return to soli­tude that defines Addie’s eter­nal wan­der­ings.

Paris, France, July 29, 1715, emerges as a scene where the pro­tag­o­nist, Addie, nav­i­gates the com­plex­i­ties of her exis­tence. Far removed from the idylls of dream­ers, she has learned to adapt and sur­vive, her spir­it honed from artist to sur­vivor. On this par­tic­u­lar evening, Addie finds her­self employ­ing her wits to han­dle the advances of a man she’s enticed into a rent­ed room, using wine laced with a drug to stave off his unwant­ed atten­tions. As the man suc­cumbs to the effects of the potion, Addie reflects on the year that has passed—a year since she defied the tra­di­tion­al path set before her by escap­ing mar­riage, ven­tur­ing into unknown woods, and ulti­mate­ly trad­ing her soul for a cursed form of free­dom.

This free­dom, how­ev­er, comes at a grave cost. Addie lives each day ensnared with­in the con­fines of a curse that grants her eter­nal exis­tence with­out the abil­i­ty to leave any last­ing impres­sion on the world or its peo­ple. Objects, mem­o­ries, and even the man lying uncon­scious on the floor beside her, remain untouched by her pres­ence, as she is doomed to be for­got­ten by those she encoun­ters, imme­di­ate­ly, end­less­ly.

In this chap­ter, the nar­ra­tive delves deeply into Addie’s strug­gles and the iron­ic nature of her ‘free­dom’. Bound by the arcane terms of her deal, she can­not with­er, starve, or die, yet she can­not tru­ly live, her every moment pressed into the soli­tude of her own mem­o­ry. She maneu­vers with­in her con­straints, dis­cov­er­ing loop­holes such as how to indi­rect­ly influ­ence her sur­round­ings with­out breach­ing the curse’s terms.

The arrival of a mys­te­ri­ous fig­ure, iden­ti­fied only as ‘the dark­ness’, marks a piv­otal moment. This enti­ty, the grantor of Addie’s curse, emerges from the shad­ows, embody­ing both a famil­iar temp­ta­tion and a haunt­ing reminder of her fate­ful choice. Their inter­ac­tion is charged with ten­sion, Addie’s rebel­lious spir­it clash­ing against his amuse­ment at her predica­ment. He reminds her of the exact words which sealed her fate, sug­gest­ing that her wish for free­dom was grant­ed, though not in the way she’d hoped.

This con­fronta­tion forces Addie to con­front the real­i­ty of her exis­tence and the choic­es that led her to this eter­nal, lim­i­nal space. The dia­logue between Addie and the dark­ness probes the themes of desire, con­se­quence, and the ambigu­ous nature of free­dom, set­ting the stage for fur­ther explo­ration of Addie’s cursed life. Through sharp char­ac­ter inter­ac­tions and reflec­tive nar­ra­tive pas­sages, the chap­ter skil­ful­ly por­trays Addie’s fierce deter­mi­na­tion to find auton­o­my with­in her unyield­ing cir­cum­stances, hint­ing at the deep reser­voirs of strength and cun­ning she must draw upon to nav­i­gate a world that can­not hold her.

Vil­lon-sur-Sarthe, in the fall of 1703, is a com­mu­ni­ty deeply root­ed in Catholic faith, cen­tered around a solemn stone church attend­ed dili­gent­ly by Ade­line and her fam­i­ly. Yet, at twelve, Ade­line’s prayers feel more habit­u­al than devout, mir­ror­ing the rou­tine actions of her par­ents rather than a gen­uine act of faith. The young girl’s under­stand­ing of God is chal­lenged by Estele, a mys­tic fig­ure ven­er­at­ed and feared in equal mea­sure, who intro­duces Ade­line to the con­cept of old­er, for­got­ten deities that once nour­ished the vil­lage’s spir­i­tu­al life. Estele, with her deep con­nec­tion to the nat­ur­al and the ancient, sees the new God as a dis­tant fig­ure, detached from the sim­plic­i­ty of rur­al exis­tence.

Ade­line’s father dis­miss­es Estele as mad, and her moth­er con­demns her to Hell, but Estele’s phi­los­o­phy intrigues Ade­line, spark­ing a curios­i­ty that con­flicts with her moth­er’s expec­ta­tions for her future. Unlike her friend Isabelle Ther­ault, Ade­line craves adven­ture and knowl­edge beyond the con­fines of Vil­lon-sur-Sarthe. This yearn­ing is made painful­ly clear when her father leaves for the mar­ket in Le Mans with­out her, a tra­di­tion aban­doned due to her moth­er’s insis­tence on pro­pri­ety.

Torn between obe­di­ence and desire, Ade­line con­tem­plates the divine guid­ance she seeks, reflect­ing on Estele’s unique form of wor­ship to the old gods. Despite her moth­er’s harsh dis­ci­pline intend­ed to curb her rebel­lious spir­it, Ade­line’s deter­mi­na­tion leads her back to Estele, seek­ing to learn more about these ancient enti­ties and their wor­ship.

Estele, acknowl­edg­ing Ade­line’s tenac­i­ty, edu­cates her on the nature of the old gods: omnipresent, yet name­less and indif­fer­ent, requir­ing offer­ings and respect. She warns Ade­line of the dan­gers inher­ent in invok­ing these capri­cious spir­its, advis­ing cau­tion in her prayers and desires.

When her father returns with gifts intend­ed to appease her wan­der­lust, Ade­line’s first act is to ded­i­cate her finest pen­cil to the riv­er, an offer­ing to the old gods she now seeks to under­stand, sym­bol­iz­ing her entry into a world bridged by Estele between the devout­ly Chris­t­ian and the pagan, an act of defi­ance against both her moth­er’s wish­es and the con­ven­tion­al faith of Vil­lon. Ade­line’s jour­ney into the spir­i­tu­al and the sac­ri­fi­cial reveals a girl on the precipice of change, both with­in her­self and with­in the broad­er tapes­try of belief that envelops her vil­lage.

In Chap­ter IV of “The Com­ing Race,” the nar­ra­tor describes his ini­tial encounter with a mys­te­ri­ous build­ing and its inhab­i­tant, reveal­ing both awe and fear. The build­ing, carved part­ly from rock and adorned with Egypt­ian-esque archi­tec­ture, stood grand with its mas­sive, taper­ing columns that embraced the local flo­ra in their design. As the nar­ra­tor approach­es, he is con­front­ed by a being that chal­lenges his under­stand­ing of the human form. This enti­ty, which blends human fea­tures with an oth­er­world­ly grace, exudes an aura of both genius and demon, akin to the myth­ic fig­ures on Etr­uscan vas­es or the murals of East­ern tombs.

The being, tow­er­ing yet not gigan­tic, was draped in attire that seemed both alien and regal—a fusion of large wings fold­ed across the chest, a tunic, and leg­gings made of a fine, fibrous mate­r­i­al. Adorn­ing its head was a jew­el-encrust­ed tiara, and it held a slen­der, metal­lic staff that glint­ed like pol­ished steel. The narrator’s focus, how­ev­er, is trans­fixed by the crea­ture’s face, a vis­age that mar­ries the enig­mat­ic beau­ty of a sculpt­ed sphinx with the dis­tinc­tive­ness of an unknown human race. Its skin bore a unique hue, rem­i­nis­cent of but dis­tinct from that of Indige­nous peo­ples, framed by deep, black eyes and arch­ing brows that hint­ed at an intel­lect both tran­quil and inscrutable.

The nar­ra­tor’s encounter with this fig­ure instills a pro­found sense of dread, liken­ing the emo­tion­al impact to the pri­mal fear evoked by preda­tors. This fear is ampli­fied not by any overt men­ace but by the inhab­i­tan­t’s otherness—its serene yet alien aspect sug­gests a being of advanced nature or capac­i­ty, stir­ring with­in the nar­ra­tor a pre­mo­ni­tion of dan­ger. This chap­ter, rich in its descrip­tion and the emo­tions it con­veys, sets the stage for a nar­ra­tive steeped in mys­tery, explo­ration, and the con­fronta­tion with a civ­i­liza­tion far removed from the known con­fines of human expe­ri­ence.