Chapter 34. The Taste of Pain

MAGNUS

Sorrow has no one description.

To some, it means shedding tears for long hours, and to others, it means drowning themselves in alcohol…or perhaps a mix of both.

But it was long, dreary hours of silence and nothingness to me.

There were no tears, and there was no alcohol, as I barely had an appetite for anything.

It was just…an empty existence where nothing, including me, mattered.

Happiness had become a luxury I could not acquire, and sleep had eluded me in its warm embrace.

And it was all because of her disappearance.

This was what I had been afraid of getting too attached. It never ended well for anyone, not my father or me.

I watched the setting sun for a few more minutes before moving away from the window.

Sorrow brings out the inner poet in even the most stone-hearted. It was why I found purpose in everything, including a normal thing like the sunset.

Astrid was like the sun that chased aw