"Don't look at me like that. Get angry. Hate me. Punch me, kick me, strangle me, Rimbaud! I shot you in the back! I caused that explosion that made you lose your memories and forget who you were! I'm the reason you died in this foreign country! If you really were a ghost, you would have at least one reason to despise me, Rimbaud! You'd want me to pay for what I did!"

The screams echoed everywhere, like the whisper of a curse. He seemed like a madman, in his purest and rawest form, consumed by rage and willpower. Anyone who saw him would say he had succumbed to madness, falling into an abyss as deep as the pain in his heart.