Sunday, the—
I have neglected this diary for far too long. But it just wasn't easy to write. I mean, it's not like I don't have a conscience.
But I do have to admit: there was something very special about watching a person transforming into a cadaver. The soul vanishing… If this guy ever had one…
We struggled to decide who would do it. In the end, we held the knife together. And did it in one stroke guided by neither. Was it me, was it him? Was it both of us? Even I won't be able to tell. That was the beauty.
And now, now, now, we are finally off the hook. The Swiss authorities ruled it a suicide and — judging from a grander perspective — quite rightly so.
He wanted it. And we just fulfilled his desire.
In other news, we had again a new student, this time an utterly enchanting one — the one and only Sissi. She wants to ride Veritata. And so she shall.
N appears to like her as well. And I'm a little torn about whether this is good news or bad news. If she tries to drive a wedge between me and N, I might rent a room for her at the Beau-Rivage. I can see her already in the bathtub, fully clothed, like that German politician, with a little yellow ducky by her side.
That could be enjoyable.
If justified.
But, for now, I just hope we will be one big family. Her, him, me and N.