What the bottle from Aldebaran held was not wine, but the memories of his lost love.
and alone, a retired Shakespearean actor sifts through the possessions
of his dead love in a desperate attempt to keep his dreams of her alive.
The discovery of a strange bottle containing the liquescent record
of another human being—memories, feelings, experiences—gives
Boris hope that another such bottle exists; one that contains the distilled
essence of his lost Année. A desperate quest to posses her last thoughts
will wrench him away from everything he has ever known to an alien world
beyond the stars, where the human soul can be bottled, stored—and savored.
Boris turned to look out the window at the few stars he could see in the night sky above the illuminated city. Which one was Aldebaran, he had never learned—and never wanted to know. He uncorked the violet bottle, and poured himself a glass of the wine. The scent of its fumes surprised him; strong and aromatic, the odor was more like a liqueur—or the perfumes that Année had once worn. Well, no matter. “To you, love,” he murmured as he lifted the glass.
As the liquid slid down his gullet, he nearly choked with shock. The taste was watery, although the fragrance was even more intense—but the effect on his mind was instantaneous. It felt as if tendrils of ice were entering his brain. Dizziness overcame him and he sat back down, collapsing over his plate as the glass slipped from his fingers. Memories flooded through him—memories of things he’d never done, places he’d never been. Someone he’d never been …
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