In April 1848, Com­man­der Gore, pre­sumed dead for eight months, is engulfed in a vivid imag­i­na­tion of what has unfold­ed dur­ing his absence. He stud­ies accounts of the dread­ful Arc­tic expe­di­tion by Franklin’s crew, who endured a har­row­ing win­ter aboard the ships **Ere­bus** and **Ter­ror**. The expe­di­tion’s best sports­man has suc­cumbed, and as tem­per­a­tures plunge, a sin­gle storm oblit­er­ates anoth­er hunt­ing par­ty of offi­cers and men. Iso­la­tion dri­ves some mad, while oth­ers starve, plagued by scurvy and a des­per­ate long­ing for warmth and food amid the suf­fo­cat­ing dark­ness. The air around the ships smells of decay, reflect­ing the despair with­in.

As spring arrives, casu­al­ties rise sharply, with nine offi­cers and fif­teen men dead—the high­est mor­tal­i­ty rate of any polar expe­di­tion to date. Faced with this calami­ty, Crozi­er, phys­i­cal­ly dete­ri­o­rat­ing yet res­olute, orders the aban­don­ment of their ships. Franklin’s venture—still only referred to as “Franklin’s expe­di­tion” and not yet a “lost expedition”—prepares to march 800 miles toward the promise of safe­ty, car­ry­ing sup­plies insuf­fi­cient for halfway.

Whale­boats are loaded with essen­tial items: tents, seal­skin sleep­ing bags, pri­mar­i­ly canned pro­vi­sions, spare cloth­ing, and hunt­ing rifles. Over­loaded, the men suf­fer as they drag the boats through the icy ter­rain. The ordeal trans­forms from a voy­age of hope to one of grim sur­vival as frost­bite, dysen­tery, and death become con­stant com­pan­ions. With their strength wan­ing, marines guard med­ical sup­plies against des­per­ate sailors, under­tak­ing respon­si­bil­i­ty for polic­ing dwin­dling rations. Good­sir is one of the sur­viv­ing sur­geons but ulti­mate­ly los­es his bat­tle with a tooth infec­tion.

As they strug­gle onward, makeshift bur­ial prac­tices begin, but soon the dead lie where they fall, a grim tes­ta­ment to the expe­di­tion’s tragedy. They aban­don gear, cre­at­ing bizarre scenes of civ­i­liza­tion amidst the frozen waste­land. Their hope wanes, and they trudge forth, lost in exhaus­tion and despair, as they become more lost to the land­scape.

Gore learns that around thir­ty sur­vivors even­tu­al­ly reach a camp dubbed “Star­va­tion Cove,” far from civ­i­liza­tion. In dreams, he con­fronts haunt­ing mem­o­ries of his friends, includ­ing a vis­cer­al vision of Le Vescon­te in a state of dis­mem­ber­ment. These dreams blur the lines of life and death, reflect­ing the grim real­i­ty of sur­vival when faced with can­ni­bal­is­tic instincts.

While sur­viv­ing Inu­it offer assis­tance, the expedition’s poor prepa­ra­tion leaves them vul­ner­a­ble in a harsh land. Gore wres­tles with the bur­den of mem­o­ry and guilt, deter­mined to reach safe­ty before dark­ness claims him, haunt­ed by the faces of those lost and a pro­found sense of respon­si­bil­i­ty for their fate.

In New York City, on July 30, 2014, Addie is con­front­ed by Hen­ry about her deci­sion to engage with the dark­ness, a deci­sion dri­ven by her deter­mi­na­tion not to lose him despite the dire cir­cum­stances they find them­selves in. Hen­ry, appear­ing drained and resigned, believes it is too late to change their fate. He reveals regret over the choic­es he made, specif­i­cal­ly the deal that has put them both in this per­ilous sit­u­a­tion. Despite his pleas for Addie not to pro­ceed with her plan, she is unwa­ver­ing, demon­strat­ing her com­mit­ment by slip­ping a ring onto her finger—a sym­bol of her readi­ness to con­front Luc, the embod­i­ment of dark­ness, head-on.

Luc’s arrival is marked by an unset­tling knock, a polite yet omi­nous fore­warn­ing of his pres­ence. He stands in sharp con­trast to the sur­round­ing envi­ron­ment, unaf­fect­ed by it, embody­ing a time­less ele­gance that appears mis­placed. Despite the oppres­sive heat, Luc’s appear­ance is impec­ca­bly com­posed, his attire and demeanor untouched by the phys­i­cal world. His inter­ac­tion with Addie lacks warmth; there is no pre­tense of pleas­antries, only an expec­ta­tion of her to fol­low into the uncer­tain night that lies ahead.

Addie’s inner con­flict is pal­pa­ble as she momen­tar­i­ly con­sid­ers retreat­ing to the safe­ty of her apart­ment with Hen­ry. How­ev­er, the path she has cho­sen does not allow for such a retreat. With a heavy heart, she steps into the hall­way, leav­ing Hen­ry behind with a lin­ger­ing look that con­veys a mul­ti­tude of unsaid emo­tions. As she fol­lows Luc, Addie’s trep­i­da­tion grows, espe­cial­ly upon notic­ing the shad­ows that play omi­nous­ly at the thresh­old of the build­ing. Deter­mined to main­tain some sem­blance of con­trol, Addie asserts that there will be rules gov­ern­ing their noc­tur­nal engage­ment, imply­ing a cau­tious approach to her deal­ings with Luc and the night that unfurls before them. Her firm stance reveals her aware­ness of the dan­gers she faces and her resolve to nav­i­gate them with cau­tion, ful­ly aware of the decep­tive nature of the dark­ness that seeks to envel­op her.

In New York City, on a beau­ti­ful spring evening of April 25, 2014, in Prospect Park, Addie LaRue and Hen­ry enjoy a char­i­ty con­cert where the com­mu­ni­ty par­tic­i­pates in an open-mic styled event. As they watch, they dis­cuss Addie’s unique mem­o­ry, which is unaf­fect­ed by time, allow­ing her to recall every moment of her exten­sive life vivid­ly, unlike Hen­ry who finds the con­cept over­whelm­ing. Addie con­fess­es to a past mad­ness due to her long life but says she has come to terms with it.

The event they’re attend­ing lets atten­dees per­form for a char­i­ta­ble cause, with audi­ence mem­bers giv­en num­bered cards to rate per­for­mances. Hen­ry, sym­pa­thet­ic towards the per­form­ers, gen­er­ous­ly gives high scores, while Addie’s rat­ings are more crit­i­cal, reflect­ing on her cen­turies of expe­ri­ence. Their exchange show­cas­es their dif­fer­ing per­spec­tives, not just on tal­ent but on life.

As they lay togeth­er, enjoy­ing the rare qui­et of shared space, Addie reflects on her con­nec­tion with Hen­ry. Unlike her past, where she inspired artists while remain­ing a ghost to them, with Hen­ry, she shares her sto­ries, her truths, frag­ment by frag­ment, as part of their every­day lives. Her nar­ra­tive unfolds in pieces, a reflec­tion of their grow­ing inti­ma­cy and under­stand­ing.

This vivid depic­tion paints a scene of two peo­ple find­ing solace and under­stand­ing in one anoth­er, con­trast­ing the mun­dan­i­ty of a char­i­ty event with the depth of their bur­geon­ing rela­tion­ship. Through shared expe­ri­ences and qui­et moments, they nav­i­gate the com­plex­i­ties of their exis­tences, find­ing com­mon ground in their dif­fer­ences. The chap­ter beau­ti­ful­ly cap­tures the essence of con­nec­tion, mem­o­ry, and the art of liv­ing through sto­ry­telling.

In this chap­ter set in New York City on Sep­tem­ber 7, 2013, Hen­ry nav­i­gates a world where his new­found charm and appeal have dra­mat­i­cal­ly trans­formed his inter­ac­tions, mak­ing him irre­sistibly attrac­tive to those around him. Delight­ing in the pow­er of being desired rather than over­looked, Hen­ry’s expe­ri­ences range from super­fi­cial encoun­ters fueled by lust to com­plex inter­ac­tions under­scored by nuanced moti­va­tions he strug­gles to com­pre­hend. Despite the exhil­a­ra­tion of his recent pop­u­lar­i­ty, Hen­ry is per­turbed by the unnat­u­ral­ness of his allure and the unset­tling nature of peo­ple’s gazes, which remind him of the arti­fi­cial­i­ty sur­round­ing his new life.

An encounter at a cof­fee shop with Vanes­sa, who play­ful­ly chides Hen­ry for not call­ing, cap­tures the lighter side of his new real­i­ty, con­trast­ing sharply with a sub­se­quent meet­ing with Dean Mel­rose, a fig­ure from Hen­ry’s aca­d­e­m­ic past. The Dean, once a har­bin­ger of aca­d­e­m­ic fail­ure for Hen­ry, now presents an unex­pect­ed oppor­tu­ni­ty for redemp­tion in the form of a posi­tion at the the­ol­o­gy school, leav­ing Hen­ry con­flict­ed between the appeal of return­ing to a path he once loved and his reluc­tance to reen­ter a world that expelled him.

The nar­ra­tive shifts as Hen­ry opens his book­store, encoun­ter­ing Bea, a friend whose unchanged per­cep­tion of him pro­vides a sem­blance of nor­mal­cy. Bea’s inter­ac­tion with Hen­ry reveals the unaf­fect­ed and sin­cere nature of their friend­ship, a stark con­trast to the super­fi­cial rela­tion­ships Hen­ry has nav­i­gat­ed thus far. The chap­ter takes a mys­te­ri­ous turn when Bea shares her dis­cov­ery of a series of por­traits span­ning cen­turies, all fea­tur­ing the same uniden­ti­fied woman, ignit­ing her aca­d­e­m­ic curios­i­ty and chal­leng­ing Hen­ry’s skep­ti­cism.

This chap­ter skill­ful­ly weaves themes of desire, pow­er, iden­ti­ty, and the search for truth through a blend of mun­dane dai­ly life and mys­ti­cal, unex­plained phe­nom­e­na. Hen­ry’s jour­ney is marked by both the intox­i­cat­ing allure of being want­ed and the pro­found iso­la­tion that comes from rec­og­niz­ing the super­fi­cial­i­ty of such desire, set­ting the stage for a nar­ra­tive explo­ration of authen­tic­i­ty, con­nec­tion, and the human con­di­tion.

In the vibrant food truck scene along Flat­bush, Addie and Hen­ry enjoy their night, entwined in the sim­ple yet pro­found plea­sures of good food and warm com­pa­ny. Amidst the bustling lines for diverse cuisines, Addie finds her­self rev­el­ing in the delight of fla­vors, a change from cen­turies of eat­ing mere­ly to fend off hunger. The con­ver­sa­tion flows smooth­ly until a moment of emo­tion­al con­nec­tion glimpsed between Hen­ry and a food truck work­er rais­es unvoiced ques­tions in Addie’s mind. She observes, reflect­ing on her long jour­ney through time, how fleet­ing moments of hap­pi­ness and con­tent­ment are, yet how intense­ly she cher­ish­es them.

The duo’s adven­ture takes a whim­si­cal turn as they ven­ture to pro­cure dessert from a French bak­ery owned by Michel, a friend of Addie’s acquain­tance, Del­phine. Here, the bound­aries of New York fade, and a piece of Paris, encap­su­lat­ed in the aro­ma of fresh pas­try, envelops Addie, evok­ing a sense of home­com­ing through the famil­iar embrace of the French lan­guage. Michel’s warm hos­pi­tal­i­ty, refus­ing pay­ment for the pas­tries, rein­forces the night’s mag­i­cal qual­i­ty.

As they pre­pare to join Bea’s din­ner par­ty, Hen­ry opens up about his past, hint­ing at a tale of lost love with a woman named Tabitha, yet clear­ly hold­ing back the depths of his sto­ry. Addie, res­onat­ing with the pain of hid­den scars and secrets, antic­i­pates the evening ahead with a mix of hope and appre­hen­sion. Upon arrival, Addie is struck by the com­plex­i­ty of Henry’s social cir­cle and the poten­tial for an evening of new con­nec­tions, despite the loom­ing shad­ows of their unspo­ken truths.

At Bea’s, intro­duc­tions unfold with a mix of the famil­iar and the new. Bea’s play­ful acknowl­edg­ment of a pre­vi­ous encounter with Addie hints at a deep­er recog­ni­tion, stir­ring the air with intrigue. The arrival of Rob­bie, a link to Henry’s past, injects a tense under­cur­rent, as his reac­tion to Addie implies both curios­i­ty and rival­ry. Yet, as the cir­cle wel­comes her, the nar­ra­tive weaves a tapes­try of inter­per­son­al dynam­ics, marked by the nuanced dance of friend­ships, past loves, and the silent threads of secrets yet to unrav­el. Through it all, Addie stands on the brink of some­thing time­less yet tran­sient, a reminder of her eter­nal jour­ney through the fleet­ing moments of human con­nec­tion.

In a bustling New York City book­shop on March 13, 2014, the ordi­nary life and unno­ticed exis­tences con­verge in a moment that defies Addie LaRue’s three cen­turies of enforced anonymi­ty. Among pre­co­cious chil­dren and earnest schol­ars, she finds her­self entranced by Hen­ry, the boy behind the counter with a black cas­cade of hair and a face too hon­est for his own good. His ordi­nary act of push­ing back his hair cap­ti­vates her, a sim­ple ges­ture laden with an irre­sistibil­i­ty born of effort­less charm and youth­ful vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty.

Addie cir­cles the perime­ter of inter­ac­tion, from the refuge of POETRY and MEMOIR, her pres­ence punc­tu­at­ed by the impa­tient tap of nails and the silent com­pa­ny of a cat named Book. The flow of cus­tomers dwin­dles, queue­ing her approach, punc­tu­at­ed by a ner­vous antic­i­pa­tion that skirts the edge of her nar­ra­tive – a sto­ry marred by the inex­plic­a­ble curse of being for­got­ten by every­one she meets.

Their exchange is marred by a mis­un­der­stand­ing; Hen­ry accus­es Addie of attempt­ing to return a stolen book, “The Odyssey” in Greek. This accu­sa­tion pierces the veil of three hun­dred years of soli­tude and invis­i­bil­i­ty – “I remem­ber you,” Hen­ry declares, shat­ter­ing cen­turies of lone­li­ness with a sim­ple asser­tion of mem­o­ry. These words anchor Addie to the moment, to the real­i­ty of Hen­ry’s recall, a phe­nom­e­non alien to her cursed exis­tence.

In her des­per­a­tion to under­stand, to cling to this anom­aly, Addie’s usu­al grace deserts her. She is momen­tar­i­ly unable to move, bound by the weight of Hen­ry’s recog­ni­tion and the poten­tial rup­ture in her end­less cycle of for­get­ful­ness. Yet, the nor­mal­cy of life press­es on around them, and under the scruti­ny of wait­ing cus­tomers and Hen­ry’s firm dis­missal, she finds her­self on the verge of emo­tion­al col­lapse out­side the shop.

Con­tem­plat­ing the pro­fun­di­ty of her sit­u­a­tion, Addie is ensnared by the rep­e­ti­tion of “I remem­ber you,” each iter­a­tion embed­ding itself deep­er into her psy­che, a mantra of exis­ten­tial sig­nif­i­cance. Hen­ry, emerg­ing from the con­fines of his duties, con­fronts her again. This time, their inter­ac­tion shifts towards rec­on­cil­i­a­tion. Addie’s plea for for­give­ness, couched in the offer of a cof­fee as amends, marks a turn­ing point. It is her admis­sion of need, a vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty that peeks through the facade of her cen­turies-old brava­do, which final­ly com­pels Hen­ry to see her, tru­ly see her, for the first time.

Their sto­ry, encap­su­lat­ed in the mun­dane set­ting of a book­shop, unfurls against the back­drop of a world obliv­i­ous to the mag­ic and curs­es that thread through their lives. Here, in the heart of New York City, Addie LaRue stands on the precipice of some­thing new, some­thing ter­ri­fy­ing­ly unknown yet won­drous­ly invit­ing, borne out of an ordi­nary encounter that teas­es the pos­si­bil­i­ty of a con­nec­tion that tran­scends time itself.

In Vil­lon-sur-Sarthe, France, on July 29, 1714, Ade­line grap­ples with the imposed inevitabil­i­ty of a life far removed from her dreams. Ide­al­iz­ing free­dom, she yearned to remain unteth­ered, embody­ing the soli­tary but unowned exis­tence of a tree. How­ev­er, the cyclic and con­sum­ing nature of life in Vil­lon threat­ens to sub­sume her. When Roger’s wife, Pauline, dies leav­ing him a wid­ow­er with three chil­dren, the vil­lage eyes Ade­line as a replace­ment, pro­pelling her towards a des­tiny she fierce­ly oppos­es. At twen­ty-three, Ade­line con­fronts the precipice of an unwant­ed mar­riage, feel­ing her auton­o­my slip away.

Resist­ing the notion of mar­riage to Roger, she is dis­il­lu­sioned by the real­i­ty that her protes­ta­tions car­ry lit­tle weight against the com­mu­nal expec­ta­tion of duty and mer­cy. Estele, a fig­ure of wis­dom and defi­ance, offers silent sol­i­dar­i­ty, under­stand­ing the gen­dered sac­ri­fices demand­ed by their soci­ety. As her wed­ding looms, Ade­line prays for escape, even con­tem­plat­ing the des­per­ate wish for Roger’s death over the for­fei­ture of her free­dom.

Dis­heart­ened, Ade­line attempts to plead with the nat­ur­al world for an inter­ven­tion; her soli­tude mag­ni­fied by the unyield­ing silence of the dawn. She reflects on her alien­ation, com­par­ing her­self to a neglect­ed veg­etable, ripe for con­sump­tion rather than appre­ci­a­tion. With every act of prepa­ra­tion for the mat­ri­mo­ni­al cer­e­mo­ny, her despair deep­ens, sym­bol­ized by the dirt under her nails and the oppres­sive tra­di­tion­al­ism of her impend­ing role as a wife.

Her fam­i­ly’s mix­ture of relief and com­mand under­scores the soci­etal chains bind­ing her. Estele’s mourn­ful pres­ence at the pre­lude to the wed­ding serves as a poignant reminder of the dreams they cher­ished and the stark real­i­ty con­fronting them. In a fleet­ing moment of pan­ic and real­iza­tion, Ade­line con­tem­plates the total­i­ty of the life ahead of her—bereft of adven­ture, love, or auton­o­my. It is a future con­strict­ed by the roles of wife­hood, moth­er­hood, and even­tu­al death, leav­ing no trace of her exis­tence or aspi­ra­tions.

Faced with the prospect of cross­ing the thresh­old into a pre­de­ter­mined life, Ade­line feigns the need to retrieve a for­got­ten wed­ding gift, seiz­ing one last oppor­tu­ni­ty for agency. Her decep­tion buys her a momen­t’s grace, afford­ed by Estele’s inter­ven­tion, allow­ing her to escape towards the woods, the embod­i­ment of her unful­filled desire for free­dom and the unknown.

In Chap­ter VIII of “The Cir­cus Boys on the Fly­ing Rings,” an aston­ish­ing encounter unfolds as young Phil For­rest expe­ri­ences a moment of sheer awe and a touch of fear when sud­den­ly encir­cled and lift­ed by Emper­or, the ele­phant. This unex­pect­ed inter­ac­tion takes place just as the ele­phants are head­ing to join the grand entry, leav­ing Phil with no time to react to Emper­or’s sud­den affec­tion­ate ges­ture. Rec­og­niz­ing Phil as his new friend, Emper­or care­ful­ly hoists him into the air, demon­strat­ing a scene of gen­tle cama­raderie that cap­ti­vates Phil’s heart and ignites a thrilling adven­ture.

Phil is whisked away to par­tic­i­pate in the per­for­mance, sit­ting atop Emper­or, hold­ing onto the head har­ness for dear life. His unin­tend­ed debut as a cir­cus per­former catch­es the eye of Mr. Spar­ling, the cir­cus own­er, who sees the spec­ta­cle as a poten­tial crowd-puller. The excite­ment among the spec­ta­tors, par­tic­u­lar­ly Phil’s school friends, is pal­pa­ble as they wit­ness this unex­pect­ed act, merg­ing fear, exhil­a­ra­tion, and a sense of pride in Phil.

The nar­ra­tive peaks as Emper­or, with Phil on him, engages in a waltz, mov­ing in per­fect har­mo­ny with the music. The train­er’s guid­ance offers Phil a sem­blance of secu­ri­ty, as he pre­pares for an even more dar­ing feat — stand­ing on Emper­or’s head. The endeav­or is suc­cess­ful, spark­ing a wave of applause and admi­ra­tion from the crowd, mark­ing the moment as a stel­lar high­light of the show.

As the act con­cludes, Emper­or exhibits a moment of reluc­tance to part with Phil but even­tu­al­ly com­plies with the train­er’s com­mand. The episode con­cludes with a dra­mat­ic flair when Emper­or, prompt­ed by an insa­tiable bond, momen­tar­i­ly breaks free, rac­ing towards Phil. This act, mir­ror­ing a blend of wild impulse and deep-seat­ed affec­tion, adds a dra­mat­ic end­ing to Phil’s unex­pect­ed adven­ture in the saw­dust are­na, leav­ing the audi­ence in awe of the deep con­nec­tion formed between boy and ele­phant.