Chapter 183. Reality

Damon Caztiel

"It is Chantel. Chantel. It is Chantel."

"You can hardly call this an obsession."

"Opinions vary, sir," he replies.

"Do they now?" I inquire.

He lowers his head and considers a response, perhaps one that will save his life.

"No, Sir. You are correct."

"Of course, I am."

I do not look up at him as I dismiss him, but I can see the shining beads of perspiration on his brow from a mile away.

My cigar is smoking, and the fragrance of burning tobacco pervades the empty, dead room. The perfume is intense, but not as strong as the burning feeling in my lungs from inhaling the smoke.

Writing her name down relaxes me. It reminds me that she is still real and will be with me soon.

I own a painting of her. However, it fails to capture her natural attractiveness. Nothing does. I have had several paintings commissioned by many painters, and they have all fail