Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

So I know that I am special in her heart, for whatever reason.

How delightful that even a pure and innocent healer has been tainted by a monster like me.

Even if I can't be cured, it doesn't matter anymore, as long as you're willing to stay by my side forever.

and so--

“Eliza, there are some things I need to tell you about your symptoms.”

The woman's fingertips traced the tiny scars as she said, "I misjudged the definition of hysteria. If you believe me, I will make amends for my past mistakes."

Are you giving up on me?

It was a deliberate greeting.

"How could that be? It's just that your illness is not a physiological phenomenon that can be explained by common medical sense. It's clairvoyance, those wandering shadows. You can see them, right?"

The whispered question, as light as a feather, made Eliza curl the corners of her lips slightly.

"Ah."

They just whispered.

“They are not hallucinations.” Charlotte stroked her trembling eyelids, holding her pretty face in her palm. “They are wandering spirits. The bloodline of the Dickbatov family is naturally spiritually inclined, which should be a gift, but unguided spiritual perception can confuse the senses and erode reason.”

"I was fortunate enough to come into contact with this knowledge during that plague, and thus learned the reason why the Dikbatov family had been afflicted with the disease for generations. Eliza, may I beg you to forgive my mistake and trust a doctor who has turned back from the wrong path?"

Of course I know, of course I see clearly, and of course I believe you.

Eliza's fingertips gently touched Charlotte's hand, and a tender smile appeared in her azure eyes.

“Dr. Bella,” she said softly, “you don’t need to ask for my forgiveness.”

As dusk settled outside the window, the flickering firelight between the two cast shadows on the wall, like those of an ancient shadow play. Eliza leaned slightly forward, her forehead resting on Charlotte's shoulder, the faint scent of lavender from her hair wafting towards the doctor's nose.

"Actually... I knew all along that those weren't hallucinations."

Charlotte's pupils contracted slightly; this seemed to have taken her by surprise.

“Do you remember when we first met, you asked me if I always had insomnia?” Eliza’s voice was soft, as if afraid of disturbing something. “At that time, I didn’t tell you the truth because every time I closed my eyes, I could hear my mother’s and older sister’s voices.”

She looked up, her gaze passing over Charlotte's shoulder as if staring into some distant corner.

“They stood on my bed, repeating the same words over and over—Eliza, don’t look, don’t listen, don’t respond to them.” The girl unconsciously stroked the sheets. “But I didn’t listen to her. I was so lonely, Dr. Bella. When everyone was only concerned with ‘the heir of the Dickbatov family,’ those ghosts… at least they called my name.”

“Social season dinners, performances at the Royal Opera House, tea parties I don’t want to attend at all…” With each word, her voice grew softer. “I will invite the most talented performers to temporarily reside in this body, to smile for me, to sing for me, to be a perfect Dikbatov for me.”

"It was I who lied to you."

"Look," she chuckled, sensing the astonishment in the person before her. "Even the all-knowing Dr. Bella can be surprised."

The firelight from the fireplace cast their shadows on the bookshelf, where the heavy medical texts now stood as silent witnesses.

“I don’t understand what it means to be extraordinary, or what it means to be a guide, but I know the suffering you endured and the wounds you suffered during the plague.” Eliza gently picked up the half of the mask and placed it back in Charlotte’s palm. “That knowledge inevitably comes at a price, doesn’t it?”

“You have given me so much, how could I not even give you my trust?”

"Even if it might cause me to lose the attachment of those wandering spirits, to no longer be perfect, no longer be at ease, if this is your salvation, then I—"

A subtle sense of dislocation lingers between the two. She is a shattered mirror, and even if it is covered with the most exquisite silk, it cannot comprehend the kindness that has been repaired, the true face beneath the act.

She presented her savior with gifts, full of love, but Charlotte would not reciprocate her expectations. They were briefly adjacent on different paths, yet mistakenly believed they shared the same heart.

"It's so sweet."

Chapter 184 Zelena's Helplessness

On Friday, a light rain hit Tingen, with the drizzle tapping against all the foyer windows.

“What an interesting story, Charlotte.”

"I never expected you to have such profound insights into treating mental illness; I've never heard of this from Dr. Bella before—"

Clear rock sugar blends into coffee, and amidst the lively conversation, these drinks are naturally set aside.

"These are just some pieces of advice based on experience."

Taking a sip of hot tea, Charlotte's gaze swept from the distant city back to the small room in the arbitration tribunal where people rested during their shifts.

On the nearby wooden chair, the red-haired Conch Girl, as always, exuded her boundless energy in her speech and movements, like a messenger of spring or a wandering wind god in the story.

"By the way, is Ms. Z coming back today?"

Pedeline raised her fingertips and rested them on her chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

"maybe."

She placed the glass down, so that the bottom of it made a crisp sound as it struck the porcelain plate. Charlotte looked down at the dark brown liquid swirling in the glass, the surface reflecting her slightly upturned lips.

“After all,” she said, shattering her reflection with her small silver spoon, “the steam trains are always late.”

"Ah! That's perfect!" Suddenly, she clapped her hands, the crimson streaks in her hair almost setting the curtains ablaze. "The White Rose Theatre has a new play tonight, the four of us can—"

"I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and said with a noncommittal smile, "The plague in Florence has involved too many things. Ms. Z probably doesn't have the leisure to enjoy the new shows."

This is natural. When a friend who has been with you for years and treated you with respect passes away and is replaced by someone else, no one can be at ease and accept it with a clear conscience, even if they crave the warmth that belonged to the other person.

"Huh? But I clearly heard that the epidemic was well controlled, and the drugs introduced by Dr. Bella greatly curbed the disease and saved tens of thousands of people."

"It feels a bit unrealistic," Pederina said with a wistful expression, sticking out her tongue.

"Although Dr. Bella is a respectable doctor, with many praiseworthy qualities such as her tolerance and thoughtfulness, and her extensive knowledge, I never imagined that such a humble person could be so decisive and resolute in extraordinary events, despite being an ordinary person..."

"—To possess the characteristics of a plague messenger in a mortal body?"

A cool voice came from the doorway, freezing Pederina's last words on her tongue.

Charlotte's fingertips paused slightly, the silver spoon touched the cup with a very soft 'tinkling' sound, she slowly raised her eyes and looked towards the door, where Ms. Z was standing.

The damp wind, carrying the scent of jasmine, swept into the room. She was still dressed in a simple white shirt, her black hair slightly damp from the rain, with a few strands clinging to her pale cheeks.

The woman's eyes were calm, almost empty, like the sea before a storm, seemingly still but turbulent beneath. Water droplets from her hair slowly accumulated into small puddles on the oak floor.

"Melvis!" Sensing the sour atmosphere, the red-haired girl immediately jumped up and shouted with great joy, "Look who's back! You don't have to be busy with all the work anymore!"

The black-haired girl paused, then looked up from behind the file shelf with a hint of disdain. Just then, ink from her fountain pen dripped onto the file she had just finished organizing.

This usually meticulous and rigorous clerk, unusually, did not utter a sarcastic remark, but merely clicked his tongue lightly and scanned the three of them with his blood-red eyes.

“The arbitration tribunal’s paperwork is always more timely than a downpour.” She ultimately chose to greet the safest party, while discreetly turning over the ink-stained document. “Welcome back, Ms. Z.”

The rain intensified, meandering down the window frame and outlining blurred patterns on the glass. Ms. Z did not enter the lounge; her knuckles remained on the door frame, her white knuckles seemingly trying to embed themselves into the oak grain.

"To possess the characteristics of a plague messenger in a mortal body."

It was repeated again and again, the sound very soft, like drifting catkins.

"What's wrong with this?"

Confused by the beauty's dazed expression, the red-haired girl blinked in bewilderment, her gaze shifting between Charlotte and Ms. Z—the former was using a silver spoon to stack sugar cubes into a small pyramid, while the latter stared at the dripping umbrella stand next to the filing cabinet.

There was a black umbrella there, a gift from a friend.

"Ms. Z, you're wet."

With a light tap of her silver spoon, Charlotte knocked down the tower of sugar blocks, and at the opportune moment, she opened her mouth, revealing the concern that should be shown to her superior.

"Yes, that's right!"

She hurriedly got up to pick up her belongings, and Pedeline belatedly searched for the towel like a startled sparrow.

“No need,” Ms. Z said as she walked into the room, her boots leaving damp marks on the floor. “The carriage axle broke halfway there, but luckily I made it here on foot.”

Her gaze wandered, never settling on anything, as if a lost soul was searching for a place to belong. Only the words she uttered revealed a hint of weight. "You've all worked hard these past few days. Although I trust you all, ladies, it's still necessary to fill in any gaps."

Melvis emerged from behind the filing shelf, holding neatly arranged folders in her hands: "They're all here." She paused, her bloodshot eyes sweeping over Ms. Z's dark circles under her eyes, clear signs of several sleepless nights.

"Arranged in chronological order, with key sections marked in red."

"Thank you."

Zelena took the document and meticulously marked it. While flipping through it, she changed the subject and asked Charlotte, "I heard you were just talking about the plague in Florence?"

The firewood in the fireplace made a slight popping sound.

Charlotte picked up her teacup, her eyes appearing particularly gentle in the rising steam: "It's just some medical discussion. Pederina is very interested in Dr. Bella's research."

“Really?” Ms. Z’s fingers tightened around the edge of the document. “I thought you were already busy enough.”

Pedeline returned with a towel, and upon hearing this, stuck out her tongue. "Charlotte said Dr. Bella's prescriptions are very special! I wonder how she managed to prepare them in such a short time—"

“Through intravenous injection, antibodies are produced, allowing the body to actively adapt to the pathogens, creating memory and rejection.” Charlotte explained the principle, feigning admiration as she remarked, “This is almost unlike any current medical approach, providing a new direction and category for the medical field.”

"It is difficult to start something from scratch, and it is hard to imagine how much effort and thought Dr. Bella put into screening and cultivating this beneficial strain."

She observed Zelena's reaction as she spoke. The dark-haired beauty's eyelashes trembled slightly, and her breath visibly paused for a moment when she heard the name 'Bella'.

The candlelight flickered, casting swaying shadows on the woman's profile. Ms. Z abruptly closed the file, the sound of the papers clattering together ringing out crisply in the quiet lounge.

“Theoretically possible.” Her voice was heavy, as if soaked with rain. “But antibody culture takes at least three weeks—while the outbreak in Florence only took ten days from outbreak to resolution.”

Melvis suddenly coughed, his pen leaving long, dark marks on the paper. Pedeline stood frozen, clutching her towel, oblivious to the water droplets dripping from her red hair onto her collar.

Charlotte smiled without saying a word, the low-set teacup breaking the stagnant air. "So that's where the miracle lies. Dr. Bella broke the shackles of medical common sense and creatively crossed the barriers of knowledge."

“Yes, she’s always like that.” Without denying it, Ms. Z’s gaze pierced through the rain-drenched window, landing on a distant point, bitter and poignant. “She loved challenging the established conclusions in textbooks when she was in school; gentle and considerate, yet with her own set of principles…”

Memories, like rain, slowly washed over her heart. She remembered Bella intently adjusting the cups in the medical school lab; she remembered the gentle way Bella knelt down to look the sick children in the orphanage; she remembered the faint scent of medicine in her hair as they huddled together on a sofa to read on countless nights.

But life is unpredictable, and now her friend is no longer the person she remembers.

"I'm going to change clothes."

Without saying anything more, the black-haired beauty turned her back and disappeared from everyone's sight.

"Is Ms. Z in a bad mood? She looks terrible."

Pedeline finally draped the towel over the back of the empty chair, her red hair lying listlessly against her cheeks.

"nature."

Melvis didn't look up, but just squinted slightly. The pen twirled between her fingers and finally landed precisely in the ink bottle.

The clerk stated in a factual tone, "The last time this happened was four years ago when the case involved that doctor."

"Could it just be from the long journey? I heard the railway tracks north of Tingen were washed away by the heavy rain."

It's the divergent thinking of the Conch Girl.

"I'll go check on her." Charlotte put down her teacup, and as she stood up, her skirt swept across the corner of the table, carrying away a gentle breeze.

Her gaze shifted, and at the end of the corridor, the office door was ajar, letting in a dim, yellowish light. As she approached quietly, she peeked through the crack in the door and saw Ms. Z standing with her back to the door, holding something in her hands.

It was a photograph of Dr. Bella—Charlotte recognized it immediately. The brown-haired woman in the photo had a gentle smile and eyes as soft as the early spring sunshine. Unlike her affected performance, the real Dr. Bella always had compassion and warmth in her eyes.

The woman's fingertips traced each photo, her shoulders trembling slightly. The profile of her face appeared particularly fragile under the light, with unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes, indistinguishable from the raindrops.

"Bella..." The brokenness in her voice had never been shown to them before.

What a pitiful figure! Yet, whenever Charlotte recalled that day, she couldn't help but smile.

The silver bookmark under the pillow, the crumpled and smoothed edges of the note, the bunch of hyacinths killed by hot milk—all seem to be telling the story of a heart that is being repeatedly tormented yet forced to feign calm.

"Please come in."

Perhaps her keen senses caught the footsteps. Zelena didn't look up as she put the photo in the drawer and turned around with a calm expression, only her slightly reddened eyes betraying her emotions.

“These are the case briefings that arrived in the last few days.” Charlotte placed the folder beside her; the parchment was neatly labeled along the edges. “Page three requires your signature.”

The kerosene lamp suddenly burst into flames, but the momentary light could not illuminate the dull and lifeless eyes.

"Put it here."

Such concise words, like silk soaked with rain, weighed heavily on the silence, urging those around them to leave. But Charlotte did not leave; instead, she bent down to fiddle with the lamp wick.

"The wick has formed a scab," the girl's voice was close to my ear. "If you don't trim it in time..."

"I will do it myself."

Ms. Z suddenly stood up, the oak chair scraping harshly against the floor. The gust of wind she created as she turned stirred the documents on the table, revealing a photograph tucked inside—a graduation photo from the Florence Medical School, with Bella standing on the far right of the second row, a hyacinth tucked into the pocket of her white lab coat.

Its flower language is silent love.

The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. Charlotte watched as Zelena's pale knuckles pressed against the edge of the photograph, her nails almost digging into the paper. The hyacinth, rendered in gray in the black and white image, stung her eyelids more than any color.

"Ms. Z, could you tell me about Dr. Bella?"