No one could enter the danger zone of their relationship. Orpheus found himself near her and was left in her paradise fighting his own hell. She stroked his hair as he dragged his lips from the bruise to her mouth, as if kissing fire. With reverent care, do not burn.
"I love you, my Orphea..."
As he was hugging her and kissing her, he stopped. Guilt.
"I want to be alone."
After the apology, the isolation. To hide from their lives by banishing himself to the labyrinths of a trapped loneliness. A deserter in his own darkness, he trembled to step on the gray zone of his mind.
A labyrinth made of loneliness, sorrows and fear.
"The passage is a trap, one day you will be lost.
Try to find the way out."
If he bends to the power of their love and submits, he vows to himself to cut the myth as soon as he touches it.
The crossroads where the past became trapped in an eternal present. What colors are your own memories made of? Do you hold a knife or scissors? And what are you hiding behind your own Second Door?
A social novel that asks the reader the relentless question: What colors are your own memories made of?
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