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HERMES:AND THIS POOR BOY, HE WORE HIS HEART ON HIS SLEEVE.
YOU MIGHT SAY HE WAS NAÏVE TO WAYS OF THE WORLD
BUT HE HAD A WAY WITH WORDS.
any way the wind blows, HADESTOWN.
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SCENE I.
INT. the olympic pavilion.
WITH ANOTHER PIECE OF paper screwed up into a ball and tossed to some corner of his bedroom without any care as to where it landed, not even finding it within himself to care if it would land on a flame, Armand Moreau had reached his limit. How long he had been sitting at his desk, writing down whatever came to mind only to scrap it because nothing seemed right, he had lost track. Looking over at the candle that resided next to him illuminating his failures.
