Visions Through The Mole

Nicòle felt a sharp pull from inside the hole. Together, they stepped inside.

“Henri! You cannot leave me! We ‘ave been together for so long and I…I love you.”
“It is not my fault, Martine. He has called for me to be his apprentice. I cannot say no to ‘im. You know that…”

“Come ‘ere my boy. I will show you what no man ‘as done before. I will show you how to make the mole...”

“Yes, Nicòle.”
“Is it true that Avogadro has a new apprentice? A novice Frenchman?”
“NICÒLE! You must not speak ill of the great Avogadro! Your father was once that same novice. Why do you think your name is French?”

“I want to know what you learnt. The Craft. I want you to teach me.”
“To do that Nicòle, you must go to the birthplace of The Craft: France.”
“Then we will go to France. Please father.”

I fear I am being brainwashed. No time to write. Give my regards to your family and Genevieve.”

With a blinding light and the loud drone of white noise, the visions stopped.

“I think we should talk.”

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