Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

Therefore, no matter who it is or what the feeling is, it is worth savoring and remembering, making it impossible to let go of any of them.

But all those emotions are hidden beneath the mask of a doctor.

“Eliza, you are safe... Come, feel the touch of my fingertips.”

In the spiritual realm, those wandering souls are frantically entwining with the girl before him, immersing her in an illusion from which she cannot escape.

Charlotte not only provides comfort through physical touch, but also releases a spiritual glow that surrounds Eliza like fireflies.

Those wandering spirits, invisible to ordinary people, emitted piercing screams in an instant, twisting and dissolving like burning wax.

"Woo..."

Unable to utter a coherent sentence, he could only feel Eliza wrapping her arms around him and then tightening them, revealing her dependence.

“You did very well, girl. When I relax, please slowly open your eyes, and those things will slowly settle down... like a feather, like an itch on the side of your face fading away.”

"Huff... Huff... Waaah..."

The black-haired girl gritted her teeth and squeezed out the words with difficulty, almost as if she were crying.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Bella… You clearly said that this is an acquired illness, not a curse. Humans are rational beings… We should be able to completely control ourselves. But I can’t… The Dickbatov family can’t have any more madmen.”

"My disgraceful behavior, my breaches of etiquette, will be seen by the audience, and I will be abandoned by everyone..."

Tears silently slid down her porcelain-white cheeks, forming glistening droplets at her chin before finally settling on the hem of her skirt. Her fingers gripped the former's sleeve tightly, her knuckles turning bluish-white, as if it were her only connection to the world.

"No, Eliza, your character and virtue are the best etiquette. You are humble and gentle, know how to behave, and are reasonable. You are more dignified than any nobleman."

Looking around, Charlotte saw a corner of the banquet where the ladies were whispering and covering their faces with fans. Charlotte's spiritual vision could clearly see the jealousy and greed entwined around them—those murky threads were uglier than any illusion.

So she leaned close to the girl's ear, her voice as gentle as a stream. "Ignoring the cold stares and slanderous words, they are the ones who should be ashamed of their ugly behavior. At least you only had a minor illness, while their dignity is nothing but a gilded mask."

"Um......"

Eliza's breathing gradually calmed down. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress a sob, but more physiological tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. Her eyelids drooped, wet eyelashes casting feather-like shadows in her vision. Occasionally, a sob would escape from her throat, only to be quickly cut off by herself, turning into a few cloying gasps.

At the very least, she didn't want to reveal her vulnerability to Dr. Bella again.

Charlotte knew that the wandering spirits wouldn't completely disappear—they were like a persistent affliction, and as soon as they sensed the presence of this good girl, they would intensify their efforts to penetrate her internal organs and erode her senses.

This is due to her innate constitution. Eliza's soul, like a fragrant delicacy, tempts wandering souls who are separated from their flock, unless she truly becomes extraordinary, capable of understanding herself, controlling the flow of her spirituality, and transforming it into her own.

“Yes, I can’t, I can’t be like Mom and Beatrice anymore, Dickbatov… I can’t… the theater troupe… I can’t—”

The murmured whispers continued, but a blush had been added to her almost bloodless face from the previous kiss.

"Want to go home?"

"think."

It was a barely perceptible nod, buried deep in the shoulder socket.

"Then I'll take you back."

The promise and agreement were settled in these few words. Charlotte wrapped her arms tightly around her friend's waist, supported her slender shoulders, and slowly got up.

But the Duchess's shrill voice cut in at the worst possible moment: "Doctor, she can still finish singing tonight..."

Charlotte's steps abruptly halted at the sound of the former's words. She turned her head to look, the silver mask reflecting the cold light of the chandelier, revealing a half of her face as cold and aloof as an ice sculpture.

"Madam, being knowledgeable and courteous is the proper demeanor of a noblewoman. There are so many flattering and sycophantic voices, why do you insist on making things difficult for a sick girl, only wanting to see and hear her momentary loss of composure?"

“She is a person, not an object that opens its voice for you. Her singing is a selfless gift to you, not a means to satisfy your constant demands.”

Her words were precious and resounding.

All the guests gasped. Charlotte could feel Eliza trembling slightly in her arms, the girl's nails almost digging into her arm. The doctor subtly adjusted his position, letting the other girl bury her face in his shoulder to shield her from the prying eyes.

“Insolent fool!” A crack appeared on the Chancellor’s face as he slammed his cane on the marble floor.

"How dare you!" Anger flashed across the face of the newly risen nobleman, as if his fragile inner defenses had been breached.

The Duchess snapped her fan shut, the ivory ribs breaking in her palm, mirroring the turbulent rage on her face. Her nail-painted fingers pointed at Charlotte, her voice distorted with fury: "You madwoman, how dare you talk back to me! Do you know the disaster your words will bring to the family and the lineage?!"

The piercing scream that cut through the clamor carried a strong threat, but when Charlotte's fingertips climbed onto the mask and slowly peeled it off, the boldness of her spitting and cursing turned into cowardly and panicked fear.

The hideous red spots writhed on her face like living creatures. This was the cruel detection of the disease. It healed as she progressed through the extraordinary sequence, but at this moment, it was deliberately used by the beautiful woman.

"The red spots on her face! It's the plague from the outer city! I've seen those patients—"

Without a word, the entire banquet hall descended into chaos. The elegantly made-up and luxuriously dressed ladies lifted their skirts and scattered in all directions, while the admired and high-ranking gentlemen turned pale, abandoned their canes, and hurriedly slipped away.

The overturned champagne tower flowed into a golden stream on the ground, with an added salty, uric acid smell—shameful and laughable.

Straightening her back, she gently lifted Eliza in her arms and carried her away in full view of everyone. The girl was frighteningly light, and her hazy blue skirt swayed in the wind like a butterfly with broken wings.

No one dared to stop her; each step she took landed on the shattered crystal glasses, producing a crisp, ringing sound. Those sounds seemed like a metaphor—the carefully maintained facade of dignity among the nobility was crumbling.

“The third door on the left.” Eliza pointed weakly to the hidden door behind the tapestry, her exposed skin slightly red.

Footsteps mingled, seemingly interspersed with the belated pursuit of the guards. The girl's breathing grew increasingly rapid, each inhale accompanied by a faint wheezing sound. Charlotte could feel the heartbeat beneath her thin chest—as fast as a startled sparrow, or like a fledgling bird unable to contain its joy.

"Doctor, this is the boldest thing I've ever tried."

"It turns out that breaking free from established frameworks and following your own thoughts really can be so easy and so liberating..."

Whispers mingled in my ears, almost swallowed by the wind, making it hard to distinguish whether they were hazy murmurs or genuine feelings.

"Hang in there a little longer." Without a reply, the doctor simply tightened his arms, holding the person in his embrace even closer. "The carriage is just outside the garden."

This was, of course, a lie. Charlotte was visiting alone, observing the irony of this aristocratic spectacle from an outsider's perspective. But, coincidentally, an elaborately styled carriage was parked on the stone path outside the Rose Garden.

Judging from the angle of the close proximity and the open carriage, it was clear that it had been waiting for a long time and was specially prepared for both of them.

Without hesitation, Charlotte crossed the threshold and, arm in arm with the gentle girl, stepped inside.

The carriage door slammed shut behind them, shutting out the hustle and bustle of the banquet, leaving only the scent of cedar and leather. A deep male voice came from the shadows.

“You are bolder than I imagined, Isabella.”

This is certainly not praise, but rather obvious irony.

The familiar yet unfamiliar man was already seated in the velvet chair opposite him, the candlelight outlining his sharply defined jawline, and his blue eyes, which were exactly like Eliza's, were now as cold as ice.

It was Theodore von, Eliza's brother, and naturally, this carriage was also his creation.

"Kissing my sister in front of half of high society, you should be glad that ugly red spot covered your face, otherwise tomorrow the whole city would be talking about the affair between the Dickbardov family's daughter and the female doctor."

Charlotte's deep, restrained voice was tinged with resentment, but she remained unmoved, simply replying calmly as she gently stroked Eliza's sweaty bangs with her fingertips.

"I care more about the safety of a good girl than her so-called reputation. Besides, you were clearly there, yet you let those hyenas circle around her, teasing and mocking her, just to see her in such a shameful state?"

"As her brother, you knew perfectly well that she had burned her throat yesterday during rehearsals, yet you still pushed her onto the stage, letting those nobles treat her like an exhibit. Do you really have any reason to question me?"

His calm voice, though seemingly undisturbed, was like a sharp sword, leaving Theodore speechless.

His knuckles gripped the railings on both sides, the veins bulging from the excessive force. "What right do you have to point fingers here? She is my proudest sister, and as an outsider with no blood relation, you have already overstepped your bounds far. The Dickbadov family has always had a private doctor."

"I'd like to say the same thing to you: of course I'm a doctor."

The carriage suddenly turned, and a beam of light shone through the gap in the curtains, illuminating Charlotte's silver mask. The red spots had receded like the tide, revealing smooth, flawless skin.

"A doctor who believed that Eliza should not repeat her mother's fate."

Theodore von retreated as if he had been struck in a vital spot.

He turned to his sleeping sister, his fingers hovering above her pale cheek, but he didn't touch her. "Mother, she committed suicide in the fire, and Beatrice jumped from the top of the tower too."

“You don’t know the history of the Dickbadov family, you don’t know what we’ve been burdened with, you don’t know the curses passed down through generations…” The man’s voice suddenly became hoarse. He withdrew his hand, his knuckles pressed against his brow. “Do you think I don’t want to protect her? Every woman who is gifted with a singing voice will struggle in pain all her life.”

The carriage's bumpy ride over the cobblestone road caused Eliza to groan softly in her sleep. Her eyelashes fluttered, as if she might wake up at any moment. Charlotte adjusted her position to make her more comfortable and covered the girl's bare shoulders with a shawl.

"A curse? I said from the beginning that this was just a hereditary mental disorder, but you, you all always blame the tragedy on mysticism, but never face the medical diagnosis."

"You don't understand—"

“I understand how people use the word ‘curse’ to evade responsibility and how they use ‘fate’ to rationalize their neglect of patients. Eliza doesn’t need to be locked in a gilded cage as a singing exhibit; she needs treatment, understanding, and freedom.”

The refutation that left them speechless was denied by the reasoned and well-founded words. The argument was just a one-sided struggle. Neither of them argued about the extraordinary existence, even though they were both aware that the other had some shallow views on it.

"Enough, Isabella. I didn't come here specifically to listen to your sharp tongue. The turmoil in the outer city is none of Eliza's business, and I won't allow you to drag it into the vortex of worldly affairs."

It's a straightforward warning.

“I have never had such a thought. I would rather sacrifice myself than implicate a precious girl.”

It is an open and honest statement that neither dodges nor avoids the issue.

With her hearing blurred, Eliza's eyelashes fluttered. She heard the words "sacrifice" and "implicate," and instinctively tightened her grip on Charlotte's hand.

This intimate scene instantly cracked Theodore's expression, and he coldly snorted, "It had better be that way."

"With the advancement of electrical technology, the new medical director has given me a plan for electroconvulsive therapy. He has demonstrated its effectiveness to me with examples, rather than with meaningless words."

This is a definitive conclusion.

Chapter 175 The Past and Contradictions of an Era

As dawn and afternoon alternated, after that day's argument, her relationship with Theodore von was no longer the one of unspoken understanding they had before.

As a prominent figure in Florence and a member of a long-established noble family, Charlotte did not believe that the Dikbatov library did not contain knowledge about extraordinary things. However, Theodoron's attitude remained ambiguous—he neither explained the reason for the haunting nor truly acknowledged the cause of his sister's illness.

So, in this delicate stalemate, Charlotte chose to put the matter aside for the time being and instead turned her attention to more everyday pastimes.

Don't blame her for her cold indifference; electroconvulsive therapy did indeed prove effective in later generations, but in today's world with insufficient basic conditions, to say that it can cure hysteria through biostimulation is undoubtedly a ridiculous fantasy.

With a limited understanding of electromagnetic theory and an unclear voltage law, electroconvulsive therapy would only bring Eliza pain and torment under uncontrollable variables, both physically and emotionally.

But what does that have to do with her?

Isabella remained a detached healer; she shouldn't have gotten involved in family conflicts, nor should she have overstepped her bounds. Therefore, she would only lend a helping hand at the last moment before the situation hit rock bottom, becoming the last straw the family clung to, their only hope and support.

......

The thick yellow fog had not yet dissipated, and in this less-than-harmonious morning, it was difficult for anyone to muster the energy to appreciate the ordinary scenery of the day.

With a soft sigh, the brown-haired beauty closed the book by pressing her knuckles together, rested one arm on her cheek, and pressed it so that a little soft flesh sank in, as if she were deep in thought.

"Dr. Bella, are you still thinking about the follow-up management of the epidemic?"

A soft, gentle voice came from behind, carrying its usual liveliness.

The chestnut-haired girl was unusually dressed in a light green wool skirt, her hair still glistening with morning dew, and she held a stack of manuscripts that she had just proofread.

It's her little parrot, Melina.

Since the lease on the shared apartment was signed, they have often met in the kitchen and the entryway. Although they are not talkative, they nod in tacit agreement.

Whether it's a friendly greeting, casual conversation, research for a trip, or routine duties, the two may not have much interaction in their lives, but one of them always manages to add topics to the conversation with their liveliness.

Such morning tea or evening meals are opportunities to spend time together.

"Melina, has your new chapter been completed?"

It is an inquiry that requires no turning back.

“I’m stuck halfway through.” Melina tossed the manuscript onto the round table, pulled out a wicker chair, and sat down. “The central theme of the story, the main characters, whether or not people should sacrifice themselves to save their loved ones—these kinds of plots always make me hesitate between joy and sorrow.”

"Dr. Bella, what do you think?"

Upon hearing this, Charlotte raised her fingertips and gently stroked the spine of the book, as if the morning light were pouring down, casting delicate shadows on her eyelashes.

She didn't rush to speak, but quietly watched Melina drop sugar cubes into the black tea one by one—this was the third one; it seemed this little parrot's sweet tooth would never be cured.

“Sacrifice.” Emphasizing this word, the beautiful woman laughed heartily, gently tapping the rim of her porcelain cup with a silver spoon. “That depends on the depth of love and the intensity of affection.”

With one hand supporting its chin, the chubby little parrot pouted, letting the pen twirl nimbly between its fingers: "For example?"

"Love is when you know I'm a cold-blooded liar, yet you still reach out your hand."

A gentle doctor often tells white lies, but when she uttered this sentence, her smile was exceptionally genuine, without a trace of hypocrisy.

The cap of the round-bellied fountain pen fell onto the manuscript paper. Melina's eyes widened, and she seemed to be stunned for a moment, but quickly regained her energy.

"This doesn't sound like something you would say, but the description is so vivid that I should write it down as the epigraph for my new book!"

As she opened her lips, she suddenly leaned closer, her amber eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Dr. Bella, have you ever loved anyone, or regretted anything?"

"regret?"

Charlotte smiled radiantly, her glazed lips slightly curved, like a flower in full bloom.

“I regret that last month, out of kindness, I shared this little house with you. Every time I wake up, I find that I’m missing a few candies when I prepare them for the children.”

Melina stuck out her tongue somewhat sheepishly, clutched her chest, and exclaimed vividly, "What a cruel heart! No wonder those old fogies on the committee all say you're a 'devil in angel's clothing'!"