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Oliver's thoughts swirled within the confines of his troubled mind as he stood amidst the gathering crowd, a maelstrom of uncertainty brewing within him. [color=326960] [b]"Oh, shit. Will I have to remember all of those names?" [/b][/color] Memories tangled like a desolate thicket, obscuring familiarity. He excelled in preserving what mattered—the taste of Laus' favorite dish —caramelized onions embracing velvety Gorgonzola—, Ophelia's whispered secrets. The name of the blondie eluded him, slipping through him like quicksilver. [color=326960] [b]"Is it Isis?"[/b] [/color] He thought trying to remember. In the realm of small moments, he reigned supreme—a curator of the ephemeral, guardian of personal intricacies. His mind, a labyrinth of forgotten names, yet resplendent with treasured chapters.

[color=326960][b]"Well, I'm Oliver,"[/b][/color] he responded with a weary smile, his voice carrying a hint of resignation that mirrored the shadows dancing in his eyes. [color=326960][b]"Oliver Reed. Nice to meet you all," [/b] [/color] he added, his voice a fragile thread of hope amidst the cacophony of guarded conversations. His gaze lingered, silently beckoning for reciprocation. [color=326960][b]"Where are you all from?"[/b][/color] he asked. He concealed the truth, the tenuous existence that bound him to Potaion, for it was a tale of locked laboratories and a mother entangled in the sinister dance of lethal fungi. 


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