No matter how hard Oliver tried to speak with the sage, he could not find any chance.
Every time he got close to him, the version that looked like Eleanor suddenly appeared beside him.
She blocked his way and pushed him back into the same closed loop.
He sat on the chair placed in the middle of the corridor, interlaced his fingers, and pressed them tightly until the color of his knuckles faded.
"What is wrong with you Oliver. She is not Eleanor. She is just a copy, nothing more."
He said it to himself while trying to stand up, but his legs betrayed him and he sat down again.
Seeing that version every time released inside him a bundle of tangled emotions.
An extremely complicated mixture of sadness, annoyance, and even that faint tremor in his chest.
The worst part was that she never stepped away from the sage. She always stood beside him or appeared the moment Oliver arrived.
