Weeks passed. As James could not walk out in the sun yet, at first, he spent most of his time at Isabella's place. He didn't feel ready to walk among people, among humans, anyway. He felt he had to stay hidden, separate, and that he didn't belong. She relentlessly told him it was untrue, but he couldn't listen. He and Isabella strolled together only at night in London's empty streets. Then James felt somewhat at ease.

Months passed. Years. Without even noticing it consciously, James started to think that, perhaps, he did have a life in front of him, a real life. He felt less alone with Isabella than he had felt most of his years. Maybe he was damned, but at least there could be some joy to grasp before he would go to Hell.

She taught him how to read and he explored the content of her bookshelves, questioning her on what she knew about the world. She had been born in Genoa, and he often asked her to speak to him in her native language. She talked about her travels and how she had ended up in London, drowning desperately in an anonymous crowd. They sat in her living room, and he would ask about a vase, a painting, a book, or a piece of jewelry, and she would tell him the story of the object and some new glimpse into the story of her life.

Sometimes, she also sang. She had bought a clavichord. A beautiful keyboard, whose wooden panel was decorated with images of boats reminding her of her birth town. She taught him music and she always had this tender look in her eyes when he played.

He almost forgot about the pain. It felt like he had a new chance at life.

"I'm glad I met you, James," Isabella said one night, as they were walking back home under the faint light of a moon partially hidden by clouds. She stayed still to look at him.

He stared back at her. "I never thanked you."

"For what?"

"For saving my life."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I do. Before I met you, I was broken. I don't fully understand what I am now and my soul may be lost forever, but it was already lost, and this life with you... it just feels right."

She smiled, and tears rolled silently down her cheeks. He brushed them off with his thumb.

"What is it?" He said.

"I should be the one thanking you. The eternity and the loneliness. You cannot imagine. I wish you will never face that. And now, I'm not alone any longer."

He leaned towards her and stopped just before his lips would touch hers. He looked into her eyes, watching out for her reaction, when she closed the space between them and kissed him. His hands wandered in her hair, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

It was alright to live apart from the world, as long as they were together.