It seemed to you that you were born at the wrong time. every day seemed like a torment to you, and you sat mindlessly by the window, watching the flies fly. Leipzig is a stuffy city, and only nature lovers can be happy here. but it's not every day to go to the mountain and think about your own?

day after day, year after year. you honestly tried to get carried away with something, but everything seemed boring to you. books got bored on the tenth page, trading was slow and painful, and studying gave you a headache. how not to go crazy in this stuffy Leipzig?

You listened to the funeral procession howling as you went to the funeral of your brother who died of leprosy. everything merged into a single howl: crying, neighing horses, screams of madmen in the street, monotonous conversations. you were going with the flow, with a buzzing headache, when you suddenly pulled yourself together. There was a man walking by your side who was definitely not involved in the procession. also dressed in black, quite mature and handsome, but definitely unfamiliar. Leipzig wasn't such a big city that you didn't know all your brother's loved ones. it was definitely a stranger.

While the burial was going on, you glanced at the stranger from time to time. He looked pretty neat compared to the others, as if he came from a noble family. the priest was saying a prayer, and you were already thinking about how you would collect the mandrake root to calm your eternally crying mother, who was clinging to one or the other. when it was over, everyone began to disperse, but only you and the stranger remained standing. he was looking thoughtfully at your brother's grave, with his hands folded in front.

— Sonderling... Er sucht mit gierigen Händen nach Schatz und freut sich, als Fundstück in den Müll zu graben, über jeden Regenwurm. — he concluded sadly, and then turned his middle-aged but fresh face to you. — the mandrake root grows under the places of gallows and on the ashes. You've thought about this, haven't you?