Alexander Krivon Guide

Alexander looked at his hands. They were no longer entirely his own. Fingers that had once held a spear, a quill, a rosary, a scalpel. “What do I do?”

The old woman reached into her pocket and pulled out a small brass key—the same one from his dream. “You put it back. The well is not a prison. It is a resting place. Memories are not meant to be hoarded. They are meant to be lived, one life at a time.” alexander krivon