Does the mechanical girl dream of the Messiah?

The sound of doors closing tightly came one after another.

In the empty and deserted living room, the lights automatically dim and are adjusted to the mode used when no one is around at night, keeping the lighting within a safe range.

Ella Hepper couldn't help but lean on the light bedroom door, and her expression was no longer the same as when she said good night.

Chapter 30: The First Night’s Dream (Part 2)

Whether the moon exists above the sky, whether the stars are still in their proper positions, the dark clouds make all this unknown, the clocks click, replacing the subtle changes in light and the position of the stars to record time, astronomy seems to have lost its meaning, at least in the eyes of today's young people, what value is there in astronomy that cannot see the sky? Perhaps those ancient and distant ancestors would give different opinions, those astronomical knowledge that can produce value even if they cannot touch the stars, but that is another matter.

The night became darker and darker, so dark that one could not help but wonder whether those prayer lamps standing by the road and those dragon crystal lamps hanging in the hall were still emitting light and dispelling the darkness as they were originally designed to do. The deep light could give people a slight sense of security, but this sense of security seemed a little fake, so fake that it made the timid tremble and unable to sleep.

Now it's time to go to bed.

Now is also the time for dreams.

Whether it was Lunicia Agris, Ella Hepper, or Ashlee, none of them paid much attention to the room they were staying in. Sometimes they could feel that something was not right, but it was only a passing moment and would not make them pay too much attention. Only by searching every corner of the room could one clearly feel the sense of disharmony, and only those who thought carefully about this disharmony would feel a chill.

According to the original design of the hotel, the windows in the whole room looked integrated, and there was also a large glass window facing northeast for guests to enjoy the scenery. But now, what they could see in the place where Lunisia and her group had not carefully observed was not a window, but a huge black shelf with many small ornaments and paintings on it.

This shelf is certainly not a solid, immovable object. It can be moved away with a little force, revealing the place where the window should be at the back - of course, there is no solid, transparent large glass window there, all that can be seen are layers of black wooden boards nailed firmly in place.

Behind the wooden board, there was black paint and black tape. All these blockades completely removed this window from vision. No one would have thought that there was such a strange sight behind that unnatural shelf, let alone uncovering the wooden board, tearing off the tape, scraping off the black paint, revealing the window behind it, and then peeking in that direction through the window.

Looking from the flat ground, one can only see the towering separation wall. The office building of the city police is located outside the separation wall. They set up roadblocks and barbed wire at the only entrance to the separation wall. There are fully armed guards stationed on and under the wall.

The guards on sentry duty outside the wall were uniformly equipped. These city guards wore chain mail with blue and white cloth decorations, held a spear or a long sword in one hand, and a kite shield in the other. The guards patrolling inside the isolation wall were different. They were usually in groups of three, with a sentinel holding a dagger and a lantern, a guard holding a gun, and the squad leader holding a long sword and a round shield. The long swords issued by the guards were usually quasi-magical weapons with the "Moon Touch" enchantment. Although they were not real magic weapons, they could leak moonlight from the sword blade after activation, providing lighting for the surroundings to prevent possible dangers after the lanterns were extinguished. Whether on the wall or under the wall, everyone became nervous after nightfall. The daytime security could be said to be just a matter of coping. When darkness climbed to the top of the sky, that was when danger might come.

Galeazzo de Barbacro has not returned from the banquet yet. Even so, every guard stationed here has not relaxed at all, even though there are high-power searchlights on the isolation wall that can illuminate the area near the isolation wall as bright as day.

If you look from a high altitude, for example, from the 31st floor of the Pasipatio Hotel, you can see a little bit of the scene behind the wall - it's like there's a black veil blocking it, swaying and blurry, as if what exists there is not the real face, but some kind of mirage floating in the city, a strange oil painting that has been wiped by a palm and the pigments mixed together. The surrounding lights are bright, but only scattered dim spots can be seen in the veil, which is not enough to create a wide enough lighting range, and there are not enough people there to enjoy the safe zone brought by the lighting.

This is the result that can be obtained from a distance, but what if we think about it in another way? What if we don't want to set up a light area that can bring safety there? What if there are not so many lighting resources, but we have already poured as many lamps and candles as possible there, but still can only support such small patches of dim light?

Ah, ah, the truth is irrelevant. For those who do not live in the ruins, for those who do not need to struggle in those dim spots of light, the scenery there is not important at all. No one will look there, otherwise the vision will become hazy, swaying, and they will see things that should not be seen. For dull people, dullness will become a rare happiness in this situation, and for sharp people, sharpness will become the beginning of torture, unless they never face the darkness that seems like a mirage. And for some people, sharpness is not enough to describe their cognition. Their five senses are enough to see through the protection brought by reality, and their consciousness has already recognized the existence beneath the ordinary.

For these people, the flickering darkness was like a wound torn in the world.

Wounds will bleed - wounds that never scab over will never stop oozing blood. If penetrating the wound will touch the rotten inside and drive people crazy because of the decay, then what if they come into contact with the black blood that smells like a corpse?

What if the black blood did not form a river, but floated like mist, from which one could not escape as long as the direction was right?

Lunicia was not dreaming—even though she was not dreaming, she seemed to see something in her dream. Her brows were furrowed and her breathing became heavy.

Ashlee didn't need to fall asleep. She just lay motionless in front of Lunisia, staring into the sleeping face, looking at the face that seemed to be another of herself. The golden lake rippled and swayed with it. She couldn't touch the dream, and naturally couldn't understand what Lunisia was facing. All she did was watch, wait, and sort out the fragments of memory accumulated in her gray brain or gear mind. She longed to sort out something to understand this world that made her feel both strange and familiar.

The wandering undead were singing and dancing, calling for something - and that list included themselves.

Ah, ah, dreams and reality are swaying together, the border of consciousness is becoming blurred, the boundaries between reality and thought are blending and merging, which side is real and which side is illusory? Am I awake now, or have I fallen into a dream? Where exactly is this place? What should I do to spend this long night?

Sitting in front of the black desk, Ella looked dazed.

She did not fall asleep as promised - or rather, she did not know whether she was sitting here awake or wandering in a nightmare from which it was difficult to wake up. There was a familiar feeling, and the memory was vague. Once she tried to recall it, she would feel a tearing pain in her head. That kind of pain could not make people wake up, but would only make their consciousness more blurred. Even so, she still knew that the place where she was now was not a place she was familiar with or had lived in for a long time. It was not a tent outside the wilderness, not a shack in the ruins, not a secret base underground, and not... there. This was just a room in a hotel, a bedroom that she had arrived at for the first time. Yes, yes, that's right, she knew nothing about this place, everything here was her first time seeing it, and she had never lived in such a luxurious place. If it weren't for her...

——Who is she?

The moon behind the mist and clouds, that blood-red moon ring, will it give us an answer?

No, no, no - that's not right.

That bloody thing, that bloody ring, if it's not the moon, then what is it?

There was no sun, no moon, no sky, and this was a strange hotel room. It was the first time I had arrived here. So why did I feel an indescribable sense of familiarity? Everything from the furniture to the environment was so strange. The lights on the wall were different from the ones there. The orange warm light was so different from what I remembered, but it reminded me of the overly familiar environment. Why? Did something change happen here, so it was so similar to there, and it made me shudder?

Ah, ah, it doesn't matter, none of this matters. A familiar feeling came from the northeast, a familiar breath enveloped this room, a familiar voice lingered in my ears, murmured, hummed, roared, telling myself that I should go find my savior. Yes, since everything is so familiar, then this strange feeling is an illusion. Since there are more familiar elements, I shouldn't do unfamiliar things, such as sleeping, such as deep sleep. In my memory, no, in my instinct, sleeping is a luxury. How can those who sleep at night serve the savior and protect the savior's deep sleep?

So, no matter now, no matter here, whether it is a dream or reality, I should open my eyes. Can I do it? Even if I can't do it, I have to do it. If the medicine can't guarantee wakefulness, then think of a way. Don't cut off your eyelids, because this face is a gift to the savior, how can the gift be damaged?

Self-reflection, since the teacher is not here and no one can criticize you, then you should criticize yourself. In this familiar atmosphere, isn't this the most important thing to do? You must not be proud, complacent, or careless. You must think about whether there is anything you have not done well enough, and what else you can do -

Better, isn't that what teaching is?

Think back, is there anything you have not done well enough, is there anything you could have done better but didn't, is there anything that made the Lord Savior dissatisfied? Now that you have already seen it, you must know what kind of person the Lord Savior is. You must not peek into the Lord Savior's heart, and you must not compare the Lord Savior with someone like yourself. You can only look up to him, and then think about what you should do with that look up. Things that the Lord Savior does not want to see, things that the Lord Savior does not want to see, then don't let her see them - just see them yourself.

Reflect on it, and you will come to the conclusion that only in this way can you better serve the Savior.

I have come to a conclusion, haven't I? It has been a long time since I have reflected on and examined myself for what I have done and what has happened in this period of time, right?

It seemed as if something was stirring. The "atmosphere" that Ella was familiar with was now seeping into the black paint, passing through the tape, lifting the wooden boards, crossing the shelves, and seeping into those exquisite handicrafts, making the clockwork click, the puppet's head shake, the branches and leaves creep, the sculptures tremble, the scenery in the oil paintings blurry, and the watercolor figures blink. The "atmosphere" that Ella was familiar with was like liquid dripping from the night sky, sticky and rich, colorless and odorless. Perhaps someone could perceive its existence, or perhaps not, like an invisible drowning. Ashlee's eyes were motionless, and Ella Hepper was trembling all over because of the overly familiar breath.

Ah, ah, yes—that's it.

Don't use the long sword. Don't you think the long sword is too precious compared to your body? The pair of eyes embedded in the purple sword are looking at you, and the pair of eyes embedded in the black sword are looking at you. The girls' eyes are full of cruel smiles, and their non-existent mouths are grinning. The twins are silent, waiting for what the madness in their consciousness expects, even if they are not the tools that Ella Heper needs.

Everything that was necessary was on the table - pliers, scissors, steel awl, dagger... She didn't need anything else today, so Ella Hepper finally only chose the dagger with a golden sheath.

The blade that was pulled out of the sheath was not made of steel. The hazy silver blade was full of traces of use, but there was no trace of blood. It seemed that this hazy luster would never change, and would only add marks symbolizing the record bit by bit. The blade was still as sharp as before. As long as the finger touched it lightly, the skin would be cut open and blood would ooze out. However, the blood would never remain on it, but would only slide to other places.

Ella's expression was still dazed, as if she was awake and dreaming at the same time, but her movements were very skillful, as if the alternation between reality and dreams did not make her feel unfamiliar.

"Ella, you're not doing good enough."

Her voice was hollow and vague, like a conversation or a dream. No one would listen to her here, the only person she could speak to was herself, and she had only intended to do so. This was a secret room that the Lord Savior must not know about, for reflection... and punishment.

"Why would you let the Savior get hurt?"

He placed his palm on the soft pad of animal skin, and then slashed down with the knife.

In front of the sharp blade, the skin, flesh and bones looked no different from sponges. The dagger pierced them easily. Blood flowed out, but not a drop remained on the blade. Only the bloody hole left after the dagger was pulled out made the animal skin pad that had been stained dark red even darker.

It seemed like someone was whispering - in her ears or in her mind. It no longer mattered. For Ella, this situation was so common that she couldn't remember how many days and nights she had lived in the same environment.

Some are saying, "Come on, come on, come here."

Some are saying: “It’s not enough.”

Some are saying, “Nothing can be done.”

It seemed like a very familiar voice, but I couldn't remember who the voice belonged to. My brain was stopping myself from remembering and only allowing me to focus on the unfinished tasks in front of me.

"Why would you make the Savior sad?"

One knife, one knife, and then another knife.

Pierce each finger as if it were the palm of your hand, let the blade tear through the fingertips, cut through the bones, and lift up the nails. The dagger used specifically for rituals is extremely sharp only when used for self-mutilation and cutting sacrifices.

Blurry figures gathered in the air. Those hazy figures leaned on Ella Hepper's shoulders and in her ears, whispering in a voice she had heard countless times. Not every word made sense, but no matter which one it was, she had heard it more than once. In the secret room underground, in the jungle in the wilderness, on the dark mountain top, in the barren field, she seemed to have returned to the time before she met Lunicia. Or maybe her existence was like the scorching sun, dispelling the mist that could not stand the light.

It's just that they are becoming particularly active now.

"You're not doing good enough, Ella Hepper."

Her empty eyes did not become clear because of the pain, but seemed to be falling into the abyss. Her beautiful blue pupils became darker and deeper, no longer like blue gems, but like a bottomless cavity under the black sea. She stared at her slender arms covered with scars, at the knife wounds, whip marks, and corrosion marks. The more she stared, the more ugly and embarrassed she felt.

——This is a gift for our savior, how can it be so incomplete?

What caused this defect?

It's my own immaturity - what I have done is far from good enough.

A hint of disgust emerged in her dazed expression. She raised her right hand and then brought it down skillfully, cutting her wrist for who knows how many times.

She didn't notice that eyes appeared on the wall behind her like mirages, some big, some small, but all of the same shape. They were clearly human eyeballs, but with the indelible grayness and dullness of a rotten fish. They were all staring at the same object, Ella, Ella Heper. Ella was very familiar with them, and they were equally familiar with Ella.

"Praise, praise, praise Hyperion's nightmare, praise the descendants of nightmare."

Mouths appeared on the table, bed, cabinet, and lamp, and they sang the same hymn with hollow voices, praising the nightmare of Zhongbei, praising the descendants of the nightmare, and also praising the blood of the descendants.

Ella did not see these things. These things that were so familiar to her could not replace the dagger in her hand. All she had eyes for was this dagger shining with silver light.

"Praise, praise, praise the Savior of Lunisia, praise Lunisia whose name is Savior, the Messiah who can bring salvation to this body."

Ella seemed to be praying, but her prayer was accompanied by the falling of the blade again and again.

There were more and more eyeballs on the wall, and the mouths on the ground began to laugh.

"Please punish me for my immaturity. The sins I committed in this body are that I cannot become what you expect. I cannot understand the graveyard of the stars. I crawl on the ground, struggling and trembling. Please burn this body with fire and cast it into the ashes you want. Only in this way can I be redeemed."

Not any language could be heard here, but from Aira, from every mouth on earth, came the fragments of ancient words that the north wind had scattered across the Far North, lost in the ice of Hyperborea.

"...Please punish me for my immaturity..."

As if announcing the end of the ceremony, the hazy silver light faded from the dagger, and the bone-carved hilt broke free from Ella's hand and put itself back into the golden sheath. Ella's arm had become a bloody mess, with countless wounds tearing through the skin and muscles, causing blood to flow out, soaking the hide under her arm, emitting an increasingly strong smell of blood.

She took out a bottle of colorless and transparent liquid from her waist bag, pulled out the cork, and sprinkled it on her left arm as if she had given up on herself. The wounds that came into contact with the liquid made a sound as if they were burned by strong acid, but began to heal at a speed visible to the naked eye, except for those wounds that were too deep. Even if they healed, they would still leave shallow marks on the skin.

Whether it was cutting her own flesh and blood one by one, or using corrosive liquid to treat the wounds, it was painful enough to make one faint. However, Ella Hepper's expression did not change from beginning to end, as if she had long been accustomed to it, accustomed to it to the point of numbness, numb to the point of not reacting to this kind of pain.

The eyeballs on the wall disappeared, the mouth on the ground disappeared, and the human figure in the air disappeared. They seemed to have felt satisfied, satisfied with this nightmarish self-torture, just like a delicious meal.

In vain I tried to free myself from my body, from the sleepless mirror, from the repetitive houses in the courtyard, from that muddy place - where the sound of the whistling north wind, the words of the stars, the murmur of nightmares echoed, where shadows of the past lingered, and where there was a cage for the soul that could never be escaped in a lifetime.

Alas, my Messiah, can your light shine upon this body?

Tears welled up from her eyes, and she seemed to have forgotten where she was, and even more so, she had forgotten Lunicia in the other bedroom. She seemed to have returned to the distant past buried deep in her memory, and sang the last word as the ending.

"...Please never forgive me."

Chapter 31 Day 2 (Part 1)

She was despised and forsaken of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief—surely she has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. She was wounded for our transgressions, she was bruised for our iniquities.

The chastisement for our peace was upon her, and by her stripes we are healed.

"Don't you think this is despicable?"

Someone's voice is echoing.

This is not a dream. The girl called the Saint did not receive the patronage of dreams tonight. The gatekeeper of dreams seemed to be sleeping soundly. If the erosion of dreams could not be avoided, if a piece of peaceful and stable land could not be enclosed for her in the kingdom of dreams, then it would be better to keep her away from dreams and unnecessary things, so that she could be free from poison and filth. Levina, the gatekeeper of dreams, where is she now? No matter where she is, I am afraid she cannot whisper to me or send me the soothing breeze tonight. Therefore, there is only darkness in Lunicia's sleep.

Neither awake nor dreaming, where is this place? Perhaps this is where the soul of a person resides after falling asleep.

No, no, that's not right. If this is not a dream, then where did the girl's voice come from?

It was still pitch black there. In the darkness without light, only shadows remained. This was a sea of ​​brain far away from the real world. This world existed based on consciousness. Now that consciousness was asleep, naturally nothing would appear. Was that so? The girl's consciousness could no longer be called asleep. The whispers and voices that came from nowhere had awakened her. Why was there still nothing here?

Perhaps it was because someone wanted to say something to her and didn't want her to fall into a dream, nor did they want her to wake up.

"It's not just her... They are the same, too. Don't you think this is despicable?"

——Is that so? How about that?

They were despised and forsaken of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief - surely they have borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. They have been wounded for our transgressions, they have been bruised for our iniquities.

The chastisement for our peace was upon them, and by their stripes we are healed.

"Don't you think this is ridiculous?"

--Who are you?

"Don't you think this is sad?"

—Where are you? I don't understand.

I always feel that the voice is very familiar. Yes, I must have heard the girl's whisper somewhere. Who is she? She didn't introduce herself, didn't answer my questions, what an impolite girl, just talking to herself. Why do I feel so familiar with this voice? It seems that it is not only because I have heard it before and talked to her somewhere, but there seems to be a more strange reason, a reason rooted in the depths of my soul, a reason that I don't know and am fascinated by.

"……Ah."

A familiar sneer echoed in the empty darkness.

"Forget it, forget it all. What's the point of telling you this?"

She seemed to have remembered something. To Lunicia, although she could not see anything, she seemed to be able to see the deepest part of the darkness. A certain girl shook her head and laughed. She was grinning, but her face was full of bitterness. She seemed to be able to see the color in her eyes and the slightest trace of her expression, but she could not see her face and could not remember the origin of her voice. It was as if she deliberately did not want Lunicia to recall it, so she covered the saint's thoughts with a veil. Dreams are always vague, hazy, and easy to forget. Most dreams will no longer exist in memory after waking up, and become an invisible piece of ash in this world.

There are obviously many other ways, why do we have to use such gentle means?

For some reason, her voice seemed to be gradually losing its color, as if the distance between the two of them was getting farther and farther, until it was covered by a fog so thick that it was impossible to see through.

"...Anyway, you won't change, right?"

Perhaps it was because in this place, no one had any body to cover their bodies - no matter who they were, their thoughts and consciousness were so directly exposed to each other's eyes. Lunicia always felt that she could read the girl's thoughts, her eternal loneliness and sorrow from the gradually intermittent voice.

She was not Ashtherin, and Lunisia knew that very well.

Even in this state of blurred consciousness and hazy dreamlike state, she could still clearly recall Ashlee's voice, her face, and the golden lake in her eyes. It was like some kind of instinct brought by a blood connection, a connection that could not be taken away even if one erased the consciousness, stripped the brain, or destroyed the soul.

And it was this girl who was not Ashlee Lin, but gave her the same feeling as Ashlee Lin.

The voice became increasingly vague, as if she was drifting away from this lightless sea. The girl's voice no longer contained a smile, but instead seemed to carry a layer of deep weariness:

"I really hope we will never meet again."

The sentence seemed to be spoken to oneself, but also seemed to be spoken to someone who was similar to oneself but not identical.

It was like stepping on empty air on the edge of a cliff. My invisible body fell backwards, leaped downwards, and fell into the empty abyss. I couldn't help but want to reach out my hand, couldn't help but want to call out, and cast my non-existent gaze in the direction where the girl's voice was fading away. Why did you tell me these things? I clearly didn't understand anything, but I couldn't help but want to respond to her. The regret and heartache that I didn't know who it belonged to made my fingertips tremble slightly, and I reached out to that foggy place where there was nothing.