In this chap­ter, the lead­ers of a group, com­pris­ing an elder­ly man and two younger hunters, request to board the ship *Ere­bus*. Due to the lack of an inter­preter on Franklin’s expe­di­tion, Cap­tain Crozi­er of *Ter­ror* steps in, despite not shar­ing a dialect with the Esquimaux. A par­ty of ten natives is wel­comed aboard, but their behav­iors diverge from typ­i­cal native actions. Instead of show­ing curios­i­ty, they remain sto­ic, gath­er­ing on the quar­ter­deck and lis­ten­ing blankly while Crozi­er awk­ward­ly extends apolo­gies. Gifts of nee­dles, tobac­co, mir­rors, and but­tons are offered, though intrigu­ing­ly, there are no knives present.

Crozi­er, after an unsuc­cess­ful attempt to com­mu­ni­cate and con­nect with the natives, returns to the crew—identified as “Gore.” He informs Gore that the wid­ow of a native man wish­es to speak with him. The wid­ow is described as a petite woman, char­ac­ter­ized by black hair, brown skin, and eyes that give her a deeply veiled expres­sion. Her beau­ty and haunt­ing demeanor leave Gore trans­fixed, as he per­ceives the weight of her sor­row marked by the rem­nants of tears on her cheeks.

At this moment, Gore’s instinc­tu­al respons­es conflict—he con­sid­ers the appro­pri­ate ges­ture of def­er­ence, decid­ing whether to kneel before her or extend his hand to replace what was lost. His thoughts reveal his inter­nal strug­gle relat­ing to his own unan­chored exis­tence, filled with vio­lence and dis­place­ment. The encounter evokes deep feel­ings in him—a con­ver­gence of past trau­mas and a yearn­ing for con­nec­tion amid ongo­ing des­o­la­tion.

Despite his hes­i­ta­tion, he apol­o­gizes in Eng­lish, strug­gling for the right words. The wid­ow watch­es him intent­ly, and even after their encounter ends, he sens­es her gaze cling­ing to him, per­me­at­ing his very being. This chap­ter encap­su­lates a moment rife with emo­tion­al ten­sion, explor­ing themes of loss, con­nec­tion, and the bur­dens of both per­son­al and cul­tur­al his­to­ries.

In the heart of New York City on July 29, 2014, a pro­found real­iza­tion dawns on Addie LaRue. The chap­ter out­lines her dis­cov­ery of Hen­ry’s sac­ri­fice – a year of life exchanged for a sem­blance of nor­mal­cy. Addie, who is in the throes of falling in love with him, is con­found­ed and dev­as­tat­ed by the grav­i­ty of his choice and the lim­it­ed time they have left togeth­er. In a poignant moment at the bar, as Hen­ry reach­es out to her, she retreats, pro­pelled by a sud­den fury and deter­mi­na­tion.

Addie’s life has spanned three cen­turies, marked by count­less tri­als and tribu­la­tions. From despair out­side her par­ents’ house to the grim lessons learned on the docks of Paris, each moment has sculpt­ed her resilience. Yet, in this instant, as she con­fronts the real­i­ty of Hen­ry’s impend­ing fate, she is fueled not by despair, but by rage. Con­front­ed with the prospect of loss once more, she returns to a famil­iar defi­ance, slip­ping on a ring that she has­n’t worn in forty years – a sym­bol of her entan­gle­ment with the dark enti­ty, Luc.

Her frus­tra­tion cul­mi­nates in a dra­mat­ic scene on the streets of New York. Defi­ant and unyield­ing, Addie demands Luc’s appear­ance, only to be met with his taunts and the cold reminder of their past. Luc, ever manip­u­la­tive, offers her a grim bar­gain: spend a night with him, and he may recon­sid­er Henry’s deal. Despite know­ing it to be a trap, Addie’s des­per­a­tion leads her to accept, a deci­sion reflect­ing her unwa­ver­ing will to fight for those she cares about.

Return­ing to find Hen­ry absent from the bar, she finds him at home, enveloped in dark­ness. The chap­ter seam­less­ly inter­weaves themes of love, sac­ri­fice, and the time­less bat­tle against fate. Addie’s jour­ney is a tes­ta­ment to her strength, her love for Hen­ry a bea­con in the loom­ing shad­ow of Luc’s machi­na­tions. It is a nar­ra­tive that cap­tures the essence of human resilience, the com­plex­i­ty of love, and the relent­less pur­suit of agency against the back­drop of an unfor­giv­ing des­tiny.

In New York City, a notable exchange unfolds between Addie and Hen­ry over a meal of fish-and-chips and beer in what is described as a British-style pub. The con­ver­sa­tion reveals Addie’s exten­sive lin­guis­tic abil­i­ties as she eaves­drops on a near­by cou­ple’s argu­ment, show­cas­ing her com­mand of mul­ti­ple lan­guages. Hen­ry, mar­veling at this, jok­ing­ly sug­gests she could have been an excep­tion­al spy, to which Addie play­ful­ly enter­tains the pos­si­bil­i­ty.

As they pre­pare to leave, Addie sug­gests they depart with­out set­tling the bill, insin­u­at­ing that their wait­er will like­ly for­get to charge them. How­ev­er, Hen­ry, teth­ered more firm­ly to prin­ci­ples of vis­i­bil­i­ty and account­abil­i­ty, insists on pay­ing, high­light­ing a fun­da­men­tal dif­fer­ence in their per­spec­tives shaped by their indi­vid­ual expe­ri­ences with invis­i­bil­i­ty and remem­brance.

The sit­u­a­tion esca­lates into a deep­er con­flict as they con­front Addie’s method of sur­viv­ing in the world—through acts of theft and decep­tion. Hen­ry’s ques­tion­ing of Addie’s integri­ty brings to the sur­face her pro­found iso­la­tion and her strug­gle to find a sta­ble iden­ti­ty after cen­turies of exis­tence. Addie fierce­ly defends her choic­es as nec­es­sary for her sur­vival, despite the moral impli­ca­tions, reveal­ing a life marked by fleet­ing con­nec­tions and a per­pet­u­al sense of alien­ation.

Their dis­agree­ment reveals the ten­sion between Hen­ry’s desire for a nor­mal­cy Addie can­not pro­vide and Addie’s need for auton­o­my and respect in her unortho­dox exis­tence. Despite their heat­ed argu­ment, Hen­ry fol­lows Addie out into the night, indi­cat­ing his unwill­ing­ness to let their dis­agree­ment sev­er their bond. His reas­sur­ance that their alter­ca­tion is not the end of their rela­tion­ship sug­gests a mutu­al recog­ni­tion of their com­plex but deep con­nec­tion.

The chap­ter con­cludes with a hes­i­tant rec­on­cil­i­a­tion as they walk through the night, illus­trat­ing the nuanced dynam­ics of their rela­tion­ship. Addie’s admis­sion of her dif­fi­cul­ties in adjust­ing to a “nor­mal” rela­tion­ship sig­ni­fies her inter­nal con­flict between her extra­or­di­nary life and her long­ing for inti­ma­cy and con­nec­tion, which Hen­ry acknowl­edges with under­stand­ing and accep­tance. This moment of vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty indi­cates their will­ing­ness to nav­i­gate the com­plex­i­ties of their rela­tion­ship, unit­ed by a shared recog­ni­tion of each oth­er’s strengths and scars.

Arti­fact is a new pop-up art instal­la­tion in SoHo, empha­siz­ing the tran­sient nature of beau­ty through inter­ac­tive dis­plays and per­for­mances. Bea, hav­ing embraced New York’s vibrant art scene, was there for an exclu­sive pre­view. Her excite­ment is pal­pa­ble, yet Hen­ry finds it dif­fi­cult to share her enthu­si­asm, pre­oc­cu­pied with the somber under­tones of his and Addie’s exis­tence.

The con­ver­sa­tion shifts as Bea press­es Hen­ry about his avoid­ance of Rob­bie. The men­tion of his name tight­ens the air: Rob­bie, Hen­ry’s old friend, whose recent actions have strained their bond. Despite his attempts to explain, his rea­sons sound hol­low, even to his own ears. Bea lis­tens, her silence heavy, before she skill­ful­ly steers the top­ic away from dis­com­fort, show­cas­ing her knack for nav­i­gat­ing the del­i­cate bal­ance of their social dynam­ics.

Addie, mean­while, remains an enig­ma to Bea. The brief inter­ac­tion between them, laden with unrec­og­niz­able famil­iar­i­ty, adds a lay­er of intrigue. Addie’s pres­ence, both allur­ing and out of place, stirs an under­cur­rent of curios­i­ty in Bea, who sens­es some­thing unusu­al but can’t quite place it. Her remark about Addie’s “time­less face” lingers, hint­ing at deep­er con­nec­tions yet to be revealed.

The chap­ter weaves through these inter­per­son­al ten­sions and brief encoun­ters, pre­sent­ing New York City as a back­drop full of poten­tial and mys­tery. Amidst this, Hen­ry’s inter­nal strug­gle with his feel­ings towards Rob­bie and Bea, and the inex­plic­a­ble draw towards Addie, paints a por­trait of a man caught between dif­fer­ent worlds: the tran­sient and the eter­nal, the straight­for­ward and the unex­plain­able. Each inter­ac­tion, whether with Bea or Addie, sub­tly shifts his per­spec­tive, prompt­ing him to ques­tion his place with­in this intri­cate­ly con­nect­ed web of rela­tion­ships and the broad­er tapes­try of time and mem­o­ry in the city that nev­er sleeps.

On the night of July 29, 1724, in Paris, Addie strides through the city, engulfed in emo­tion­al tur­moil and lone­li­ness, seek­ing solace in the move­ment through the qui­et streets. The warmth of the sum­mer night and the pri­va­cy of her sor­row form the back­drop as she wan­ders aim­less­ly, not towards any known shel­ter but away from the stag­na­tion of her thoughts. As she walks, she becomes aware of a pres­ence accom­pa­ny­ing her, a fig­ure match­ing her step for step with a demeanor of ele­gance and an air of familiarity—it is Luc, a god­like enti­ty, the one being who remem­bers her exis­tence amidst the curse that makes her for­got­ten by all oth­ers.

Luc’s unex­pect­ed appear­ance after four years inter­rupts Addie’s soli­tude, stir­ring a com­plex mix of relief and resent­ment with­in her. Despite her dis­dain for this enti­ty who has con­demned her to eter­nal lone­li­ness, his pres­ence momen­tar­i­ly fills the void of being per­pet­u­al­ly unre­mem­bered. Their con­ver­sa­tion reveals their con­tentious rela­tion­ship, with Luc tak­ing delight in Addie’s vis­i­ble tur­moil and dis­com­fort. The god’s absence had been delib­er­ate, a test of endurance and devo­tion for Addie, yet she con­fronts him with a facade of indif­fer­ence, deny­ing any impact his absence had on her resilience or deter­mi­na­tion.

Luc’s com­ments about her attire and ref­er­ence to a sig­nif­i­cant night four years pri­or trig­ger a wave of emo­tions in Addie, from shame to deep-seat­ed hatred. Yet, despite her loathing, she clev­er­ly masks her vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty with defi­ance, assert­ing her inde­pen­dence from his influ­ence and sur­veil­lance.

The encounter esca­lates as Luc sub­tly threat­ens to cease his vis­its, hint­ing at a future where Addie is left utter­ly alone, with­out even the spo­radic acknowl­edg­ment of her exis­tence by him. This notion chills Addie to the core, yet she coun­ters his men­ace with a mea­sured response, cling­ing to the slim hope that her soul remains beyond his reach. Luc’s final propo­si­tion, a sin­is­ter offer to end her cursed exis­tence in exchange for her soul, brings Addie to the brink of a deci­sion laced with des­per­a­tion and defi­ance.

This chap­ter paints a vivid pic­ture of Addie’s strug­gle with her curse, her com­plex rela­tion­ship with Luc, and the endur­ing human quest for recog­ni­tion, con­nec­tion, and auton­o­my against the back­drop of eter­nal soli­tude. It high­lights themes of mem­o­ry, iden­ti­ty, and the intri­cate dance between pow­er and vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty with­in inter­per­son­al dynam­ics.

In a chilly New York City morn­ing, Addie wakes up on a rooftop to the gen­tle touch of Sam. She had unin­ten­tion­al­ly fall­en asleep out­side, her com­fort sought in the soli­tude of the night but now faced with the stark, cold day­light. Sam, with her dis­tinc­tive wild blond curls, offers Addie warmth and a cig­a­rette that nev­er gets lit. The Odyssey, a book Addie had been read­ing, lies for­got­ten on the ground, its appear­ance altered by the morn­ing dew, indi­cat­ing her unin­tend­ed overnight stay out­doors.

Sam insists on bring­ing Addie inside her art-filled apart­ment, intro­duc­ing her to a liv­ing space that con­trasts sharply with its chaot­ic, clut­tered envi­ron­ment; a serene place ded­i­cat­ed to Sam’s pur­suit of paint­ing. This envi­ron­ment, Sam claims, fuels her cre­ativ­i­ty more than any ster­ile stu­dio ever could. Through­out their inter­ac­tion, there’s a sense of déjà vu for Addie, espe­cial­ly as Sam shares her approach to art—an abstract, emo­tion-dri­ven process, con­trast­ing with more lit­er­al rep­re­sen­ta­tions. Their morn­ing fur­ther inter­twines with shared cof­fee, casu­al con­ver­sa­tion, and a con­nec­tion that seems deep­er than their cur­rent acquain­tance sug­gests, par­tic­u­lar­ly when Sam con­fides about a series of paint­ings inspired by the con­cept of peo­ple as skies, reflect­ing unique emo­tion­al land­scapes.

An under­cur­rent of sor­row laces their inter­ac­tion as Sam men­tions a mem­o­rable piece she sold, unable to recall whom it was inspired by, yet feel­ing a strange cor­re­la­tion between that for­got­ten muse and Addie. Despite Sam’s warm invi­ta­tion to stay longer, Addie is aware of the tem­po­ral­i­ty of their con­nec­tion, choos­ing to leave after their cof­fee, car­ry­ing the weight of repeat­ed, fleet­ing moments shared in a sort of time­less loop with Sam.

As Addie departs, the nar­ra­tive shifts to her soli­tary con­tem­pla­tion in a café, attempt­ing to immerse her­self in The Odyssey, and per­haps, find­ing par­al­lels in Odysseus’s pro­longed jour­ney home and her own unde­fined quest. The chap­ter sub­tly mir­rors themes of mem­o­ry, tem­po­ral con­nec­tions, and the search for a place that feels like home, all set against the back­drop of a New York City that remains indif­fer­ent to the per­son­al sto­ries unfold­ing with­in it.

In the heart of New York City, on a day marked by the unyield­ing march of time, a nar­ra­tive unfolds, cap­tur­ing the essence of soli­tude and the self-suf­fi­cient jour­ney through life. March 10, 2014, serves as a back­drop to a tale of dis­cov­ery and intro­spec­tion, spot­light­ing a soli­tary fig­ure, Addie, who nav­i­gates the intri­ca­cies of exis­tence unac­com­pa­nied.

Soli­tude, as Addie expe­ri­ences it, reveals a pro­found truth about human nature. It’s a state that grants her the clar­i­ty to dis­tin­guish the indis­pens­able from the triv­ial, push­ing beyond the realm of phys­i­cal neces­si­ties to uncov­er the true sus­te­nance for the soul. To her, the basic needs of food and shel­ter pale in com­par­i­son to those ele­ments that infuse life with mean­ing and joy.

Draw­ing inspi­ra­tion from her father’s craft, Addie reflects on the art of carv­ing, an endeav­or that peels back the lay­ers of the mun­dane to reveal the essence hid­den with­in. This anal­o­gy extends to her own exis­tence, honed over three cen­turies of soli­tary life, where she iden­ti­fies her core neces­si­ties. Stripped of all but the essen­tials, she finds that while she can endure the absence of phys­i­cal com­forts, a life devoid of art and the splen­dor of cre­ativ­i­ty is unten­able.

Her rev­e­la­tions cul­mi­nate in her pro­found appre­ci­a­tion for sto­ries and their trans­for­ma­tive pow­er. For Addie, sto­ries are more than mere enter­tain­ment; they are the life­line that con­nects her to the world, pre­serv­ing her san­i­ty and pro­vid­ing a refuge from the des­o­la­tion of obliv­ion. Through sto­ries, pre­sent­ed in diverse forms like char­coal, song, paint­ings, poet­ry, films, and books, Addie finds the sus­te­nance for her soul, solid­i­fy­ing her belief in the pow­er of art to tran­scend the mere act of sur­vival, ele­vat­ing exis­tence into a realm of won­der and beau­ty.

Phil For­rest, a plucky young­ster among the cir­cus troupe, demon­strat­ed his val­or in a dis­tress­ing sit­u­a­tion that left even the sea­soned cir­cus folk in awe. When a pony, agi­tat­ed and uncon­trol­lable, threat­ened the life of a woman caught in its stir­rup, Phil act­ed with courage and pre­ci­sion. Ignor­ing his safe­ty, Phil made a cal­cu­lat­ed leap towards the ram­pag­ing ani­mal, man­ag­ing to latch onto it despite the dan­ger­ous chaos.

His bold move was met with a mix­ture of admi­ra­tion and con­cern, as onlook­ers feared for his safe­ty amidst the tumult. The pony, tak­en by sur­prise by Phil’s auda­cious maneu­ver, could not evade the boy, who, despite a severe col­li­sion that would have daunt­ed many, clung on deter­mined­ly. Phil’s resolve was evi­dent as he not only aimed to save him­self but also the endan­gered woman, his left arm firm­ly around the bron­cho’s neck while his right hand sought con­trol by seiz­ing the pony’s nos­trils. This des­per­ate strug­gle was not with­out its dan­gers, as Phil was tossed and jos­tled, elic­it­ing audi­ble con­cern from the spec­ta­tors and fel­low per­form­ers, includ­ing Mia­co, the head clown, who played a cru­cial role in res­cu­ing the woman from her pre­car­i­ous predica­ment.

Even­tu­al­ly, Phil’s brav­ery and tenac­i­ty paid off. He man­aged to sub­due the pony, albeit end­ing up in a pre­car­i­ous posi­tion that neces­si­tat­ed a swift res­cue by Mr. Spar­ling and the oth­er cir­cus per­son­nel. Despite the ordeal, Phil emerged rel­a­tive­ly unscathed, his spir­its undi­min­ished, as evi­denced by his cheer­ful inter­ac­tion with Mr. Spar­ling and the clowns post-res­cue. His hero­ic act not only saved a life but also earned him the admi­ra­tion and cheers of the towns­peo­ple, fur­ther solid­i­fy­ing his place with­in the cir­cus com­mu­ni­ty.

The after­math of Phil’s dar­ing res­cue has broad­er impli­ca­tions for the cir­cus, too. The buzz gen­er­at­ed from the inci­dent promised a packed audi­ence for the after­noon show, hint­ing at finan­cial suc­cess and a jovial atmos­phere among the troupe. Phil’s hero­ics sparked con­ver­sa­tions about his poten­tial future in the cir­cus, with many agree­ing that his quick think­ing and brav­ery were indica­tive of a nat­ur­al show­man. As the parade con­clud­ed and prepa­ra­tions for the next show began, Phil’s adven­ture left him some­what a leg­end among the troupe and the towns­peo­ple alike, show­cas­ing the true met­tle of a cir­cus hero.