The Puppeteer's new diary ~ 47 ~
Another couple of keys, the necessary doors are locked. I want to be with her down there! I swing the secret door open, run behind the dummy and rush down the stairs, springing over three steps. I fly up to the door and freeze. I turn the handle slowly, wincing from the pain caused by the fruit of my own imagination. She is still standing at the window. To make a few more steps, to touch this long golden hair that once smelled spring and flowers... No. She is just about to turn around, and I'm already going back to my room, but I still hear a quiet voice calling me... By name? This is all nonsense, a mirage of a sunny day. I'm the Puppeteer, and John died a very long time ago.
