The house with red walls hasn’t really changed. It’s been ten years since I last set foot there. It has retained its unique charm. With its dozens of paintings, its pillars bright with vivid colors, and its walls covered in enigmatic thoughts, it remains frozen in time. The only difference today is that Frankétienne no longer lives there. This time, the son of Ravine Sèche does not greet me with his outstretched hand, a smile on his lips, and that sparkling, mischievous gaze. The genius is gone, even though this hou
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