My whole body itches, which wakes me up earlier than usual. The daylight seeps through the cracks in the living room windows. I manage to move my legs my arms, to sit up on the couch where I've been sleeping. I see Paris sleeping peacefully on the other couch. I look at my hands and see my skin is reddish, red. I can't stop scratching. I try to get up, but my legs ache badly, they seem to be giving out, and I have to balance myself to avoid falling.

—Hey! Wait, wait...I'll help you. —Paris sits up in a second, with sleep in her eyes and yawning. Damn, I woke her up.

—My whole body itches. —I keep scratching.

—Stay still, stay still. —She takes my hands away from my body and can't help but laugh at me—It's normal, it's the side effects of the ointment I sprayed on you last night while you were unconscious—that's why I felt so sticky yesterday—It's the best we have for... well, for these cases. Now, a shower and, although a bit tired, you'll be as good as new. And the itching will stop.

She runs her hand over my neck and another over my waist and helps me up the stairs to the shower.

—Do I have to soap you up too? —She laughs at me again and leaves.

The hot water awakens muscles that seem to have been in a long hibernation. When I come out of the bathroom, I feel much better and can move on my own. I feel more active. With Mr. Stonecraft in his basement workshop and Paris gone, as usual, the only thing left for me is to recover by lying down on my room's bed to watch football or listen to music, as I'm used to.

—What are you up to? —Paris is in my room, waiting for me. She seems to have also taken a shower, judging by her wet hair. She wears a regular T-shirt and some pants. She always dresses up much more when she goes out to work. —Come on, Eric, we have a lot to do today.

—Excuse me? You have your research that requires your full attention. And I have to come to terms with the idea of electrocution as a possible cause of my death.

—You're being dramatic! Today, I've taken the day off too. I also need a break, which is well deserved. Besides, we need to start with your... with our training. Dad has everything almost ready, and we need to make sure... Alright, where do we start?

—You tell me. I still don't understand what you mean when you say your dad has everything ready...

She climbs onto the bed and leans her back against the wall. She signals for me to come closer and sit beside her.

—Everything always starts at the beginning, right? So that's why I want to know everything about you—. She rests her hands on her chin and gazes at me intently with those gray eyes as if expecting a fantastic story like the ones she's accustomed to reading.

—Paris, I don't think you'll enjoy learning about the intricacies of a slave's life.

—Do you forget that's my job? Just because of that it's interesting to me. You're an interesting slave.

I ignore those last words that make me feel like a circus monkey, and I realize I've never opened up to anyone. I've always been a reserved type. With the slaves at the bar, with the female slaves in their quarters... even with the Halls. I didn't tell them how I felt or what I thought simply because they wouldn't understand my thoughts or my feelings. Because I didn't want to give them ammunition against me when time put us against each other and not on the same side, or maybe it was out of fear, out of shame, out of worrying about what others might say or think. Paris is different from all the people I've known. Even different from Sophie. From the first time I saw those gray eyes, I knew she was going to be different. She understands me, listens to me, and sympathizes with me. I especially appreciate her treatment, which has gradually made me shed the heavy armor I've carried for so long and pushed away.

—There's not much to tell. When I was three, I became an orphan on the plantation. My mother died, now I know not of tuberculosis, but condemned by the Provinces and... —I tell her, briefly but with details, my entire life, which, to my surprise, can be summed up in a few words and several minutes. That's been my life so far. I tell her how I grew up in Gordon's house, my childhood with Sophie, how I started working as a slave, my adventures at the bar, and my passion for soccer, I even tell her about what happened with Sophie and her shiny purple dress and how my exile took place after a brutal beating.

—How did I not imagine it? An affair is what brought you to me.

—And what about you? What's your story? —I quickly change the subject, not wanting her to ask me questions or judge me right away. It's fair. I want her to also tell me how her life has unfolded. —I only know you have a very hardworking father—I laugh—that your job is unusual, and that... you have a somewhat... special boyfriend—I emphasize the last word.

—We were a happy family, Eric. —From the way she starts, I can tell she hasn't opened up much to many people either, not even to Edgar. —Dad, mom, and me. The three of us. I only have very happy childhood memories. We were free, with a good reputation and a good social position. My mother was a teacher at a Young Academy, and my father was a renowned scientist who worked for the State and major Corporations. Everything changed as I grew up. Mom left us. She left. Living together broke them. —She's referring to her parents. I see tears welling up in her eyes that she tries, unsuccessfully, to hold back. —And since then, at ten, I had to grow up and take care of many things that a teenage girl alone can't handle. My father locked himself in that basement from which he still struggles to emerge. He left his Company because he was a fanatic of a dream he thought would never come true, and with my help, it's almost there. That's why Dad has been more cheerful in recent years. I think he's fully recovered, but I don't know if it's because he's gotten over what happened with Mom or what. It has to be because of that, which is why he's been happier and more cheerful lately. We've made a good team, and despite the difficulties, we've come together, grown stronger, and helped each other as much as we can. But Mom... I don't know... I needed her, Eric. I needed her so many times when everything went wrong, and I was profoundly alone. There were so many times I gave up because she wasn't there... —Now the tears have turned into crying, which pours down her cheeks like a waterfall. I hug her, trying to comfort her.

—I understand—I tell her—I know how it feels. Having difficulties and not having someone to lend a hand just because they love you. I know what it's like to have no one, to feel completely alone. Sometimes, I imagine what my life would be like if my mother were here. I guess we'd still be in the shit because we'd still be slaves, but at least the shit wouldn't stink so much. It would be colorful.

—You're silly—she says. Amidst her storm of feelings, memories, and tears, I see her smile at what I tell her.

Paris leaves me lying on the bed, lost in thought. Her armor is stronger than mine. She wipes her face with her hands, pretending everything is fine despite still having a damp face, and rummages in one of the desk drawers. She pulled out the Bible Mrs. Hall gave me, which belonged to my mother. She holds it up.

—It's time to read this, do you feel like it? I don't want... —She says it for my mother, of course, I feel like it. There's no better plan than to discover more about her. I touch her handkerchief, still tied to my right wrist.

She returns to her place next to me, calmer, and opens the book.

—Wait. Eric, what do you know about the Bible? —She looks at me, and I look back, shaking my head. —Nothing? —I shake my head again, showcasing my ignorance. I suppose she, in her infinite wisdom, is going to tell me what this book holds. —It's a religious book. It seems it was written by the first Priestess right after the Collapse, and the Goddess herself commanded her to write it. In short, it's a book of deeds, miracles, and an entire philosophy of life, a doctrine, a belief that understands the world in a different way than it is. According to the Priestess's disciples, she will come to Earth again to fill the world with peace, equality, and freedom. I don't know how you don't know anything about the Goddess or the Priestess. This religion is very deteriorated, and the few who preserve the tradition and still believe in it are the slave communities, which is why peace, equality, and freedom represent so much to them. That's why talking about the Goddess or the Priestess is prohibited in all United Provinces.

I reflect for a moment on what Paris has just said. I try, with all the might in the world, to remember several moments in my life where I heard Mrs. Hall say "for the Goddess" when something happened, and at the same time, I try to connect it with what I now know.

—As part of a slave community, why don't I know anything about that, Paris?

—I don't know, Eric... Maybe where you come from, the Priestess's religion has already died out...

—No. It hasn't been lost because Mrs. Hall... Wait, wait. This symbol. —I make Paris stop in her eagerness to flip through pages and pages of the book, making her stop at a symbol colored in black that occupies an entire page. It's two crescent moons whose tips touch, enveloping a cross in the center. I point to it, looking at Paris.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

—As far as I know, it's the symbol representing the religion of the Priestess's disciples and the Goddess.

—Mrs. Hall has that damn cross surrounded by crescent moons tattooed... She has to know... She knows something! Damn it! —I raise my voice, full of anger. —And she's never told me anything.

—Calm down. —She puts a hand on my shoulder. I don't apologize, but I feel sorry. Sometimes I'm too impulsive. —Think a bit, come on. Religion is prohibited. The penalty for belonging to religious sects is death. Maybe that lady was protecting you.

—What if my mother died because of that? She had a Bible. She would be a follower of the Goddess and the Priestess, and they caught her. Maybe... that's why Mrs. Hall... It has to be, Paris.

—Maybe so.

—We need to know more about this religion. How can we go to one of their... rituals or whatever they're called when they gather? — Suddenly, I have an urgent need to go to one of the sacred places of this religion and soak up everything they hold, as if that could follow in my mother's footsteps. In that religion, I'm sure they must know something about her.

—I have no idea, Eric. —I see Paris bow her head as if she's failing me by not knowing how to answer me. —But I don't think there's any Goddess community here in New America. The prohibition is very strict, even more so in the capital of the Provinces. —I understand. It's logical. I stay silent.

—Well... how do you have a forbidden book? —I finally say, remembering that she told me she had a Bible.

—The Priestess wrote it just after the Collapse, remember? It's one of my most valuable sources. You'd be surprised at the amount of data I've extracted from this book for my research. Beyond that, Eric, maybe if you read this... you'll get some clues about your mother. However, I've only found doctrine and philosophy of life mixed with history. Maybe you should read between the lines.

“At the beginning, nothingness. Because everything was chaos. Men without gods. Women without gods. Countries without gods. Men with false gods. Women with false gods. Countries with false gods. Men with warrior gods. Women with warrior gods. Countries with warrior gods. A lifeless world, full of wars and a multitude of beliefs and conflicting doctrines. Only one Goddess, the true one, in whom no one believed. To whom no one prayed. On whom nothing was built. The one who made men, women, and countries press the end button, which destroyed everything, promising hope for the future for all who followed her. She sent the Priestess to Earth so that, having seen the old, she would build a new world in the new world. So that her word would be distributed in the now inhospitable places. The Goddess is only one and resides in the heavens. Priestesses, you all are, and you must watch over her kingdom there on the ground.”

—Stop. Stop it. That drawing. Who is it? —I point to the drawing halfway down the page, between the letters, of a woman whose back is turned, dressed in a cape that reaches down to her feet and a hood that covers her head. Her head is turned, and you can see her teeth and a faint smile. She is like the woman in the dream I had last night when I was electrocuted.

—She is the Priestess. Every community has its Priestess. This is the way they dress because that's the way the first Priestess was dressed after the Collapse. What's the matter? Have you seen them before? On the plantation?

—No, but the truth is that it rings a bell... —Obviously, I'm not going to tell her that I've dreamt about her.

—We'd better drop this. Some other time, we'll continue.

Paris closes the book. My head hurts from having taken in so much information through all my senses in such a short time. Everything I know, which is very little, I have discovered all at once. I have to digest this information, and for that, I need time. I do not conceive that Mrs. Hall has deceived me or hidden anything, but I see that the religion of the Priestess is the only connection there can be between her, my mother, and me.

—Do you know how to shoot a gun? —Paris brings me out of my reverie with a direct question.

—Electric or regular? —I gain a little time. I don't know what to answer him because both answers can be harmful. I'm a slave, and slaves can't carry weapons, so I don't know how to use them.

—Both.

—I'm a slave, Paris—I opt to be honest—I don't know what you want from me, but you have to take that into account. I know how to do a lot of things, just as I don't know how to do a lot of things.

—It doesn't matter, Eric. I don't know either. So... we have to learn.

—We have to? Where are you going to take me that happens to be so dangerous that you have to carry a gun? —My thoughts, full of Priestesses and memories, now turn to what Paris has said. After all, I have to help him in a mission that seems to be complicated. And now I understand why I am here in its entirety. I will be his bodyguard. I have to avoid, at all costs, that she dies, and it doesn't matter if for that I have to die. After all, I am a slave. That's why me. Maybe Paris and her father aren't so considerate after all.

—Eric! Eric! What do you think? —My countenance must have changed, and Paris has noticed.

—No, nothing. Where are you taking me, then? —I'm more interested.

—It's a trip. Well, it will be several trips. I need to find some books that are missing, as well as other information which will be indispensable for my research. With those sources... I can get my work done.

—About the slaves' rebellions. Something very bad for the Provinces. Slaves are not to be touched.

—Yeah, well, that's part of it. Let me explain. The place where these books are... it's unknown. I don't know what we're going to find and what people we're going to have to face. That's why we have to be forewarned and prepared for everything.

—Are you going to take me out of the Provinces? —The opportunity to escape and reach freedom is closer than ever. —If there is nothing outside them...

—Something like that, Eric, something like that. There are places where the State of the Provinces doesn't reach. You'll see. We'll make, as I say, several trips. When I have what I need, you can devote yourself to what you want. I will help you find clues about your mother. Then... I will set you free. But to achieve freedom, Eric, there are things you must leave behind. Many things.

—Paris—I walk up to her and put both my hands on her cheeks. I'm less than ten centimeters from her mouth—anything for freedom. —I pull away. —Anything. —I whisper.

We are silent for a while, both of us. I've been honest with her. I don't care where I have to go, how I have to go. I just long for freedom. To be able to be who I want to be. To be free to decide my future and not have others do it for me. I've always known that there's a price to pay for it, that everything I know and love will be lost when I attain it. But that doesn't matter to me.

—My work isn't just about slaves, Eric. —He breaks the silence, coming clean. —Actually, it's entirely about the Collapse. I want to know what was in the world before it. I know there was something. A lot of places. Many more than there are in the Provinces today. Something happened, you know? Something happened, and everything was destroyed. And we started over. Something so big happened that we started over. Something so decisive that after the Collapse, we count the years from zero. You tell me if that's not important.

I know what it means. Even if we don't know very well what the Collapse was, it brings fear, insecurity, and uncertainty to whoever names it.

—That, I am afraid, is even worse for the State of the United Provinces. —I appreciate her sincerity. I then confirm that we are going on a trip outside the Provinces, where there is supposed to be nothing and the world ends, and that we are going in search of some kind of information about the Collapse. I don't think she's crazy, but if I didn't know her a little, I wouldn't believe her. I don't know how she intends to come out of this alive and kicking. —Going straight to the foundations, to the structures of the state...they're not going to let you, Paris. It may be the best job in the world, but when you say you're going to present it...you'll be miserable. You won't be able to live like you do now. They'll come after you. Are you going to stand for that?

—Sometimes, Eric, you have to choose. I'd rather be professional and tell the truth than drown myself in lies—she comes closer to me and puts her hands on my cheeks. She's just inches from my mouth—. For the truth, or something close to it, for History, I'll do anything, Eric. Anything, do you understand me?

She craves freedom of conscience as much as I crave freedom. We understand each other. Should I blame her or judge her for being suicidal? Maybe I am, too. We return to the awkward silence.

—Do you know why my name is Paris? —She says at last.

—No. I've never heard that name, anyway. —I confess.

—My mother used to tell old stories her grandmother used to tell her. She said that, before the Collapse, there was a city called Paris.

—Paris or París?

—Paris, with an accent on the 'i'. I don't know. She liked the way it sounded without the accent. Well, Eric, that city was called the city of love. Couples would go there to swear eternal love to each other in front of a very famous tower.

—Was it in the Provinces? Maybe that tower still exists, though not like it used to.

—I don't know. I suppose not that it existed somewhere far away.

—And you're sure you haven't read about it in one of your novels? —He looks at me funny, and I shut up.

—Didn't you hear me? My mother said that the city existed before the Collapse.

Many pieces of this strange puzzle fit together. I see Paris as an idealistic dreamer. We hardly know anything about it before the Collapse. Nor does she, that's why she's looking for answers in old and lost books. How would her grandmother know anything then?

—It's just a legend my mother was told when she was little. Remembering the city and what I'm called helps me think that she existed and that I exist because of her. I don't know what would happen if, in researching, I found proof of her existence or information about her. I have this name for a reason, Eric. I am sure of it.

—I would have liked your work to be antislavery, to highlight a real problem like this one. But I understand that's unlikely and would be a waste of energy. But...about the Collapse...I love that name you have and that legend about a city called Paris and its tower, but from there to it being real...I just hope you stand up to the Provinces for something that matters and is worthwhile. I trust you, Paris. I don't know how or why, but I do. Anyway, I don't have much choice, I'm your slave. I'm going to follow you and help you. But think about it. Think if it's worth it. If I were you, I wouldn't complicate my life. I'd marry Edgar, buy everything in the world, and enjoy freedom.

—That's the easy way. The ignorant way. I don't want to live like that, Eric...

—Isn't that better? Living happily?

—No. —That's just fooling yourself. Happiness is in making life difficult for yourself. Just like you want to do, too. Remember. —She has her reasons, I have mine. She's fine. She hugs me tightly. —Thank you anyway. I trust you, too, Eric.

—And what does Edgar think of all this? —I don't mean that she's hugging me, I mean everything we've talked about. She doesn't understand it that way, she pulls away from me and pushes me away. She sees my face of incomprehension and my gestures as if asking for an explanation.

—She doesn't know anything. —She answers dryly. She goes away and leaves me alone in the room.