The forest was filled with dust. From the assorted animals there hung spider webs, and the colour of the sun was faded. The forest had been constructed for me to play in, and then it became a romantic place for me to take my sweethearts, before the grime became pervasive. It was night in the attic, and the two-dimensional trees cast broad shadows in the torch light. I set my lantern down by an eternally startled deer.

When I think of my wife, I think of lemons. Their brightness, and the images of the sun that collected around them. How they could sit on the shelf of a grocery and still bring a bit of the continent with them. Just like lemons, my wife went with a cocktail perfectly. Her dresses lit up parties, and her sharpness suited conversation well - in small amounts, of course. Her body had the small hardness of a lemon: but most of all what reminded me was how they tasted when sugared, and when bitter.

german count murders wife, hides her in the secret bits of the attic he played in as a child, then becomes obsessed with hiding the evidence that he didn't love her, which forces him deeper into his childish world, until in the highest part of the castle he finds a keep sake of hers he placed when they first met, and this convinces him to give himself up.