The outing was going rather well though K's behavior was extremely strange. Frequently he would leave the table stating that he needed to visit the lavatory. At least, that's what I am assuming his odd expressions meant.

I was rather shocked that an adult male such as himself had to relieve himself so often. However, I chose not to comment on it since I was reasonably certain that drawing attention to his lavatory activities would be construed as inappropriate.

Instead, I chose to utilize every moment of privacy I had with Marisol to the best of my abilities.

"Shall I pour you another glass of wine?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you, Shawn," she said smiling broadly.

My heart stuttered in my chest for a brief moment as my eyes admired how her smile spread through her whole face, lighting up her eyes.

Instead of reaching towards the wine bottle that was placed on the table earlier on, my hand gently took hers. Looking deep into her eyes, silently requesting permission, I lowered my lips leaving a gentle kiss on her silky skin upon receiving it.

The way the roses of modesty blossomed on her cheeks was such a breathtaking sight to behold that I found it difficult to catch my breath.

"If you do not mind me saying so, you are a wonderful woman, my lady." I said once I was able to breathe properly.

"I don't mind at all." Marisol said, a slight giggle escaping her.

Our precious moment of intimacy was rudely interrupted by K pulling out his chair scraping on the floor loudly. Thus, I proceeded to pour Marisol the delicious wine we were partaking in.

"Thank you," she said once her glass was full.

"You are most welcome." I said smiling at her.

A rather odd sensation overcame my heart in that moment. It was as if it was so full of warmth that it had started overflowing.

Wonderful as the sensation was, I came to realize that I had not felt it often. As a matter of fact, I distinctly recalled having not felt the same sensation since I last saw my dear wife.

The thought was a rather sobering one. I had wished to be reunited with my wife and here I was courting another woman. It was the utmost betrayal that I could not allow myself.

"I do apologize. I have presently recalled that I had forgotten an important obligation. I have to take my leave immediately." I said as politely as I could muster.

Both Marisol and K appeared to be stunned by my statement. As followed, I decided to take advantage of their confusion and vacate the premises.

"K, Marisol," I said bowing formally to both of them and dashing toward the exit.

"Shawn, wait up, man." K said chasing after me, but I was already in the taxi leaving behind his stunned expression.

My thoughts were crashing against each other in a tempest that swept through my mind rearranging my perceptions and drawing conclusions that I did not like.

It was paramount for me to reach my home as soon as possible and confront the wretched pen about what had occurred.

For I could not distinguish between magic and my own feelings. Furthermore, I wished to know what could Marisol possible have to do with my wife.

I recall saying: "Is not the truth the truth?" and more precise words have never been articulated.

It was vexing not to be able to note the difference between what was real and what was a mere consequence of the pen's power. For the first time I wondered if I had made the sensible decision to attempt to wield the pen's power.

Was I worthy enough? Was it genuinely I who controlled the immense potential that hid in that innocuous object or was it trickery on my senses?

What guarantees did I possess that there was not a malignant power behind the magnificent power that the object had displayed.

In that kind of haze of questions, I barely registered anything until I reached my abode, my supposed sanctuary.

Had my sanctuary been tainted?

The moment I entered my sleeping chambers, I hastily seized the pen and seated myself next to the nearest pile of blank paper.

"What has been done to me? Have you tempered with my emotions?" I asked, barely controlling my fury.

"We have done nothing more and nothing less than what the bard has requested of us," the pen wrote with exquisite calligraphy that pained my fingers.

"What is the meaning of that?" I asked utterly perplexed.

"You have asked to be reunited with your deceased wife. We could not bring her back from the dead thus we achieved the next best thing," the pen wrote.

"Pray tell me what that is? What has Marisol to do with any of this?" I asked questions spewing out of me.

"The great bard asks too many questions. We are not certain which one is more urgent for us to reply," the pen wrote.

"Have you, in any manner, altered Marisol's feelings towards me or mine towards her?" I asked the most important questions that had plagued my mind.

"We did not alter any minds. We found a seed of emotion, and we nourished it into powerful emotions," the pen wrote with much less vigor for which my poor fingers were utterly grateful.

"Would those feeling have developed on their own, without your interference?" I asked.

"We do not know," the pen wrote to my dismay.

"How is that possible? How can you not know?" I asked straining not to express the wish for violence that spread through me like a disease.

"Humans are odd beings. At times they do not become aware of their feelings for each other in time," the pen wrote.

"What does that signify?" I inquired, confused.

"They perish before the opportunity to confess their feelings to each other presents itself," the pen wrote.

"Very well, I believe I am beginning to comprehend your odd ways. However, there is still one point I do not perceive. Why did you select Marisol?" I asked.

For a few moments which felt eternal, I received no reply. It made me more anxious than I dared admit as I wondered if I even wished to know the reply.

"Does not the great bard know? Can he not sense it? Were all those tales of human soulmates mere figments of imagination? Could you not recognize the soul residing in Marisol's body?" the pen asked.

At that moment the realization stroke me like a cold wind on a wintry day. Naturally, I was aware of what the pen was referring to.

I knew the soul residing in Marisol's body better than I knew myself. It was astonishing that I managed not to perceive what was in front of my very eyes all this time.

It explained why I had experienced the peculiar emotion, why it clutched my heart so firmly.

A broad variety of things became crystal clear so much so that I felt like a dimwit for not grasping it sooner. After all, it was apparent to see, if I merely had devoted enough attention to the matter.

The soul in Marisol's body was the soul of my beloved wife.