Home / Romance / The Unveiled Soul / Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

All Chapters of The Unveiled Soul: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

87 Chapters

It is pain. Part one.

The empty streets with their echoing footsteps and empty houses quickly became an immense part of the cloudy sky where a single bird was flying. It was a pigeon. And that pigeon was slowly lowering its body down toward a lonely building with large windows. Along with the graceful wings the foliage carried news from the wind. It was a lonely landscape with a few empty benches and many lampposts. Everywhere there was the smell of rain. And somewhere in the distance could be heard the sound of people's voices. But those voices were more like the voices of ghosts that did not want to leave this city. The whole world was spinning, but here everything was waiting for something, maybe someone. It was only when a pigeon landed on one of the branches that the windows in the brick house opened and the sounds of wailing followed. The tall skyscrapers absorbed the crying, memorizing every sound, every note forever. And the hysteria that was in everyone's hearts filled the narrow st
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It is pain. Part two.

The next morning was no different from any other. The same pigeons that circled over the empty streets, the same people who went somewhere against the cold wind. The city was as quiet as ever. Even the wind was quiet. And even Adelard's broken heart. All night long, he sat on the floor, reflecting on nature, on life. But all these reflections brought only more sadness to his soul. Never before had he felt suffering so strongly. It was as if suffering was sticking tiny needles into his heart, preventing him from taking a breathe. And in that moment, when the pain became too unbearable, he simply shut off his emotions and became like all the trees in the world. "Adelard, can you hear me?" Arthur, wearily, looked at the papers that held millions of numbers. "Adelard?" "Yes. I can hear you." "Suzanne, she left some money for you. Look at this. Also, she left you some of her stores." "Should I sign the papers?" 
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It is pain. Part three.

The loud barking of dogs, along with the voice of the crow, woke up the sick, suffering people. Amidst the smell of medicine and death, tired eyes simultaneously opened and also closed as the sunlight gently rested on their faces. And when the clatter of heels sounded clear, everyone tried to lie down as comfortably as possible. After all, it was time for the injection. A nurse in an overly white outfit silently approached the first patient, who was a young woman with a deep wound on her right arm. She silently accepted the pain of the needle and as the nurse headed toward the other patient, this woman turned away and made an unpleasant sound for all to hear. When it was Adelard's turn, the nurse fixed her hair and regretted so much that she had not brought a mirror and lipstick with her. Still, she was young and beautiful. After all, all beauty is always in vigor itself rather than in appearance. Ignoring the voices of the patients, the nurse approached Adelard, who ha
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My home. Part one.

The return was long and tedious. Through fog and dusty roads, across an ocean that retained all its eternal sorrow, Adelard finally arrived home. He opened his eyes and a seagull flew past him. The bird flew by as if it wanted to hit him with its wing. But he was able to bend his head and the bird just threw its strange look and flew away. The dampness was everywhere. It was impossible to hide from it. Adelard saw for the first time what this little town was really like. He saw that there was probably nothing beautiful here. Old houses with broken windows, empty bottles and scattered love letters adorned the streets with a light fog walking through them. The sky was gray. The color of it was just like a knife blade. And if it rained, the drops would just cut against that knife, making thunder replace wailing. Lonely horses were walking in an unclear direction, and somewhere far away was a man with a very tired face. He was wearing a torn hat, which was just his habit. G
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My home. Part two.

"Monsieur, can you hear me? Monsieur, you must no longer enter the factory. It is no longer your property. Like everything that belonged to you," Monsieur Pierre said as if it were all unimportant. Adelard could not understand anything. But Monsieur Pierre understood his question through his eyes and continued. "Monsieur Adelard, you yourself wanted it to be so. You yourself gave all your property, your inheritance, to your wife." But Adelard remained silent. "Adelard, listen. Everything is legitimate. No one has cheated you. You gave everything to your wife yourself. But why do you act as if you didn't know about it?" "I don't understand," Adelard whispered quietly. Too quietly for anyone to hear him. "Your wife owns your factory, as well as all that was left to you from your parents," Monsieur Pierre went on as if it was all funny to him. "What?" "Don't you understand me?" "Why doesn't Celeste tell me this herself? W
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Alone. Part one.

In the nooks of the old houses, where street cats along with rats lived, Adelard found shelter from the rain and wind. Among the broken bottles, dirty clothes, and waste, he stood awkwardly holding the baby, who had finally stopped crying and was now just sleeping. The gray sky stretched along the broken roofs of several houses that towered over him. In one of the houses, an elderly woman was peering out of one window, trying to attract his attention. In the window opposite was a man who was smoking and looking at Adelard with disgust. These two people were looking at him, studying him and most importantly managing to judge him. Adelard, for the first time in his life, saw what judgment looks like in a person's eyes. Before, he had never paid attention to a person's bad sides. But now, in every wrinkle, in every movement of his eyebrows, he saw the disgust that was directed at him. When the thunder was strong to the little ears, the child began to cry again. Adelard had
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Alone. Part two.

"No," the woman replied and returned to her seat. The baby was crying louder and louder with each passing second. Adelard's hands were shaking, he wanted to cry himself. But he was the only adult here and so, he was determined to make sure that this crying was replaced by calmness. As soon as he put the glass to his mouth, the milk immediately spilled onto the blanket. This only made the baby cry even worse. "Monsieur, take it. You'll be more comfortable with this," a woman who was holding her baby said. Holding out the milk bottle to him, she added, "If your baby's mother sees you feeding him, she will be very angry." "Thank you," Adelard said, trying to remember this kind woman's face. But his thoughts were too muddled to work together with his memory. This was the first time Adelard had ever held a baby in his arms. But seeing the baby's face change as the sweet taste of fresh milk entered his stomach was actually a beautiful sight. And knowing that the
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Alone. Part three.

With the arrival of early morning, Adelard left the house, hoping to see his wife. But the idea seemed too bad for him. He wasn't ready to see her. Acting like an adult, Adelard kept up his graceful gait and headed in the direction of the "ideal" society. He walked down the same streets with bright flowers, the same paths, past the same people who always greeted him with shouts and words of love. But now, he was only getting judgmental looks. How quickly people could forget everything. How quickly their love turned to hatred. Without lowering his head, Adelard walked slowly. On purpose, to understand what was happening, he stopped his gaze on each person. He looked into each person's face. Looking at each face, which radiated only mistrust, hatred, and even disgust, Adelard asked himself what had made them all change their minds about him. No answers came to him until young Theo stopped before him. Terrified, heartbroken, Theo ran up to him and, disregarding the others, hugged him t
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New home.

"Men like you don't belong here! You walk near our children! Near our husbands! You want us to stop believing. You want us to become like you and go along with your desire. But no, you can't do that," the man said, and blows followed those words. The men, and the women and children, began to attack him. Many hands tried to hurt him while he was on the hard ground, with the taste of blood in his mouth. His gaze was still fixed on Jean, who stood far away, not daring to take even a step forward to help. He looked at him even when they turned him on his back and began to beat him with sticks. His best friend threw one last look in his direction and, without doing anything, simply turned back and walked away. His tall figure moved slowly along the tall trees until he disappeared into the bright sunlight. Sticks were followed by stones. People started throwing stones. There was nothing Adelard could do but just close his eyes and think about what his best friend was really like. But some
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Hunger and pain. Part one.

Adelard stared silently at the bed which was barely fit for his height. And perhaps there was only the bed. Never before in his life, had he seen such a room. Only now did he realize that he really was naive. All this time, he had been living in luxury, not realizing that life is really about black and white. "Handsome, are you single? You don't have a wife, do you?" the woman asked, putting her hand on his shoulder. "What?" "You're so scared. Let me guess, you weren't one of the common people, were you?" "I don't know what I was," Adelard replied, and in the next moment, to make himself visible, Armand began to cry loudly. "And why do children cry like that? Is that what he needs?" "Where can I buy milk around here?" "There's a store across the street." Adelard looked at her. It was a young woman with green eyes. She had a delicate face and a slender body, but nevertheless, it wa
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