A sad past

As soon as I asked him, I saw in him a reaction that I did not expect. It wasn't irritation, that in his eyes was fear, fear of rethinking the past.

We sat facing each other as we ate breakfast on the table in the living room.

He didn't seem to have had a hangover from the previous day, maybe he had drunk some of his potions.

I strangely did not feel bad, just a slight headache.

I had just asked Rivorio why he didn't leave the house.

He tried to sidetrack the question by changing the subject several times, however, his tactic didn't work for me. I wanted to know about his past, my grandfather always told me: <>.

"I don't want to talk about it ..." Rivorio finally admitted that there was something in his past that he didn't want to talk about.

"Mmh ... but ... if you tell me about it I cou
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