Francis had gotten married.

It wasn’t a nice wedding either, just a few small friends and his enraged grandfather. And, of course, it wasn’t to a man, for that was illegal in these times. Instead he had gotten betrothed to an annoyance of a woman, named Priscilla. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she loathed Francis’s smoking habit. She had even made him move away from his house in the country, to a big house in Venice.

Now Francis sits on the couch, reading a memoir, Priscilla in the kitchen cooking dinner. He wishes he could be happy with this life.. but it simply wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to go back to Hampden University and see Richard, he wanted to drink whiskey from tea cups with Camilla, he wanted to watch films and smoke cigarettes with Charles. But he had never gotten what he wanted, and he never will.