Chap­ter XIII opens with Addie in Paris on July 29, 1720, as she pre­pares a mod­est yet sig­nif­i­cant din­ner in a reclaimed attic she calls her own. This attic, sit­u­at­ed atop a dilap­i­dat­ed build­ing, rep­re­sents her rare attempt at estab­lish­ing a sem­blance of nor­mal­cy amidst the chaos of her immor­tal life. Addie, hav­ing long been liv­ing a life filled with anonymi­ty and pain, has not had a chance to make mean­ing­ful con­nec­tions. Her meal—a sim­ple spread of warm bread, cheese, pork ter­rine, and wine—seems like a small act of rebel­lion, a moment where she asserts some con­trol over the choic­es in her life. The room she has carved out for her­self, filled with a bed, a chest of stolen clothes, and a col­lec­tion of trin­kets she has accu­mu­lat­ed through­out the years, rep­re­sents the only place where she can expe­ri­ence some form of com­fort. Although her life has been marred by end­less wan­der­ing, this small space offers her refuge, a sanc­tu­ary from the cru­el­ty of her curse.

In a sym­bol­ic ges­ture, Addie dress­es her­self in rus­set silk, prepar­ing for a con­fronta­tion with Luc, the dark force that con­trols her exis­tence. The upcom­ing inter­ac­tion with him marks an anniver­sary of their ongo­ing, strained rela­tion­ship. Addie rehears­es sharp retorts in her mind, strength­en­ing her­self for the encounter, a bat­tle of wits and will. Luc, who grant­ed her immor­tal­i­ty in exchange for her soul, has been absent from her life for four years. This absence is some­thing Addie both resents and secret­ly yearns for—resenting the pow­er he holds over her, yet feel­ing an unde­ni­able pull to him. As she waits, a mix­ture of anger, antic­i­pa­tion, and frus­tra­tion churns with­in her. Yet as the evening stretch­es into the night, the real­iza­tion slow­ly dawns on her that Luc will not show up.

The hours pass with no sign of him, and Addie’s antic­i­pa­tion slow­ly morphs into despair. The sig­nif­i­cance of their anniver­sary becomes a cru­el reminder of her per­pet­u­al iso­la­tion, one more year of unful­filled promis­es and unspo­ken pain. This time, his absence feels like an even deep­er betray­al. She had wait­ed for this moment for so long, and the silence sur­round­ing her now ampli­fies her feel­ings of aban­don­ment and lone­li­ness. The room that once felt like a safe haven now seems to mock her, its walls now echo­ing with the empti­ness of her exis­tence. Addie’s brief hope for a reprieve, for a moment of con­nec­tion, is dashed, and she is left in the crush­ing weight of reality—her curse, her soli­tude, and her unyield­ing fight for a life that has been stripped of mean­ing.

Unable to con­tain her frus­tra­tion, Addie lash­es out in a vio­lent out­burst. She destroys the meal she had so care­ful­ly pre­pared, rip­ping apart her silk dress and smash­ing the wine bot­tle against the wall. But no mat­ter how much she tries to destroy her sur­round­ings, her curse ensures that noth­ing leaves a last­ing mark. Her cuts heal instant­ly, and the bro­ken glass on the floor pieces itself back togeth­er, a cru­el reminder of her inabil­i­ty to affect the world in any mean­ing­ful way. Even in her anger, Addie is pow­er­less. The things she destroys are rebuilt, and the wounds she inflicts on her­self are erased. Her rage, born from the crush­ing weight of immor­tal­i­ty, becomes a scream direct­ed at Luc, at her own inabil­i­ty to escape her eter­nal exis­tence, and at the painful reminder that her desires and frus­tra­tions mean noth­ing in the grand scheme of time.

Sit­ting amidst the debris of her shat­tered hopes, Addie reflects on the years ahead—centuries more of lone­li­ness, of wan­der­ing through life, leav­ing no trace behind. Her thoughts drift to the sea, and she remem­bers Luc’s haunt­ing metaphor of erosion—the way the sea wears down the hard­est rocks over time. She sees her life in the same way: each day chip­ping away at her, slow­ly erod­ing her sense of self and her con­nec­tion to the world around her. Time, which for most peo­ple is a fleet­ing con­cept, is a prison for Addie, an unre­lent­ing force that wears away at her spir­it and soul. The pas­sage of time, instead of being a gen­tle flow, is a bru­tal tide that relent­less­ly wears her down, leav­ing noth­ing but the rem­nants of what she once was.

The metaphor of the sea becomes a sym­bol of Addie’s endur­ing struggle—her life defined by time’s inex­orable flow, her essence chipped away by the years that stretch on with­out end. As the night stretch­es on, Addie’s thoughts turn inward, con­fronting the unbear­able real­i­ty of her immor­tal­i­ty. The lone­li­ness and iso­la­tion that have been her con­stant com­pan­ions for cen­turies feel all the more acute in these moments of reflec­tion. The chap­ter con­cludes with a deep and painful recog­ni­tion: the pass­ing of time, while a gift to oth­ers, is her curse, and it brings with it not just the loss of mem­o­ries but the inevitable ero­sion of her soul. The sea’s end­less ero­sion of rock is the per­fect metaphor for the con­stant ero­sion of her hope, her human­i­ty, and her very essence, as she remains trapped in a world that moves on with­out her.