Author Description

[Paris, 1783] "I will not deceive anyone. Neither do you, Marchesa... Yet you are here looking at me. And tell me, how do I look to you? Not a woman, of course. "That was how it all started: a wrong prediction. As in the worst novels, the ones that his mother kept hidden in drawers of her own negligee, Rossignol had spoken the words that fate had decided to subvert.A intense tale to love and separation between a bisexual man,a gay man and a woman;set during the French Revolution.A Love Triangle with intense love like no one.He had experienced a very different kind of love, he, a cruel and petty feeling; it did nothing but hurt. He deeply cut the limbs of a man, severing the muscles, leaving nothing but languor, and he dug into the bones to dry up any memory of the human being that had been in the past. But Alain's love had in itself the sweet boldness of attraction, unmistakably yes, but far less hopeless and profound than that which Rossignol felt. Perhaps, however, there were no different kinds of love, but men who tried it differently. Perhaps Rossignol was lying and was not in love with Alain at all, but one thing was certain: Alain was in love with him in a way far more comforting than that of Prince T.