(Disclaimer: Not my characters.)

They were drawn up before him, orderly, like soldiers in their ranks: pen, ink, paper. The instruments that would, at the same time, bare his soul and guard his secret. The words he wrote with them would pour out his love and longing, without ever giving him away.

Even when a tear fell on the page as he bent over his writing, he felt no fear of its revealing the truth. Water on paper was only water on paper; although his heart went with it, to Roxane it would speak of another.

Cyrano's servants would obey him, all too well.