The figs were once so symbolic for us—a representation of how forbidden and taboo this whole thing once was. And I suppose that’s still true, considering she has absolutely no clue that I exist. But no matter what memories her mind decides to hold on to or omit, no matter what twisted lifetime we find ourselves dropped into, she'll always be mine. Her soul belongs to me. Nothing about my love for her is forbidden; it’s simply misunderstood by most.
