Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

She deliberately used polite language, her fingertip lightly touching the photograph. This gesture clearly made the woman's breathing become erratic; she saw the shadow cast by the other woman's eyelashes tremble violently, like butterfly wings struggling in a storm.

As a newcomer to the arbitration tribunal, Charlotte naturally had reason to question such a well-known doctor.

"..."

Zelena's lips moved, but no sound came out.

She remained silent for a long time before finally uttering two weighty words.

"An old acquaintance."

The sound of rain grew louder as I hesitated, and behind me, I could hear the faint sound of water droplets falling.

Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?

"Need not......"

Her whisper had an unnatural nasal tone. As Charlotte turned around, Zelena was using a letter opener to pry open the sealing wax, the light illuminating the dark circles under her eyes.

You look like you need a rest.

The blonde man pushed a cup of hot chamomile tea toward her, neither too intimate nor deliberately distant, simply waiting quietly to maintain that peaceful moment together.

"Thank you."

She wanted to refuse, but staring at the swirling petals in the teacup, Zelena suddenly remembered a sleepless night when Bella had pushed the calming tea in front of her in the same way, with a cotton and linen coaster embroidered with a red cross on the base of the porcelain cup.

As the second hand of the clock moved three notches, she realized that she had been daydreaming.

"Feel sorry."

As she apologized, a bitter smile played on her lips.

"I'll prepare the documents for you again."

Without asking any further questions, Charlotte turned and walked towards the filing cabinet, only to hear a very faint gasp behind her. When she returned with the new files, Zelena had regained her composure, with only the dampness on her eyelashes betraying her earlier emotional turmoil.

"The signature area is here."

Without needing further questioning, she dipped the pen in ink and handed it to her, with meticulous care and tacit understanding. As Ms. Z took the pen, her fingertips brushed against the knuckles of her ring finger—where there were calluses similar to Bella's, the new, hard-earned fruits of her recent penmanship.

The pen nib lingered on the paper for too long, spreading ink. Charlotte watched Zelena's trembling wrists, recalling how those hands had tightly wrapped around her waist that night in the dark alley.

They are now trying their best to maintain stability, but even the simplest signature is written in a fragmented way.

Your hands are cold.

As she spoke, she reached out and lightly touched Zelena's wrist. This movement caused the pen to slip completely, leaving a long ink mark on the document.

Charlotte.

Zelena called him by his first name for the first time, her voice hoarse beyond belief. The kerosene lamp cast their shadows on the mottled wall of the archives, the overlapping shadows making it look like they were embracing.

"I'm here."

Perhaps it was because she was imbued with the image of the object, or perhaps it was because the scene evoked her emotions, but when the person in front of her lowered their eyes and spoke in a similar tone, she subconsciously thought of Bella and the scene of their first encounter.

I'm probably sick; the emotional rollercoaster is too great, which has led to my current erratic behavior.

The rain gradually subsided. The distant whistle of a steam train entering the station startled the stagnant air in the archives. Ms. Z abruptly pulled her hand back, and the pen rolled onto the carpet with a dull thud.

"I should go on my night patrol."

She stood up, the hem of her uniform sweeping over the teacup. The remaining tea trickled down the corner of Bella's photograph, blurring the broken smile.

Do you need me to come with you?

The tone remained similar, peaceful yet not distant.

Zelena couldn't help but look at Charlotte, her gaze like looking at a familiar lamp through the mist, knowing full well it wasn't the same lamp, yet still unable to resist being drawn to the similar halo.

P.S.: The ellipsis will be added soon.

Chapter 185 A Gray Pebble

"Ah, hello, may I ask...?"

A shy face, full of caution, her hands anxiously rubbing the skirt on her thighs, where an apron should have been worn.

"Me? My name is Diana. I work as a waitress at Blue Garden Café. Perhaps you know me?"

"Oh...it's a shame you don't recognize me."

"I was just working at the coffee shop, and the boss told me to watch my step so I wouldn't accidentally kick a customer's chair. But I still tripped over a customer's table leg."

The tables and chairs clattered, the utensils collided, and the coffee that had just been placed on its surface splashed out, staining the guests' simple coats.

"Excuse me, ma'am!"

The girl's voice trembled as she frantically grabbed a stack of tissues, unsure whether to wipe the table first or the guest's stained clothes. The dark brown liquid spread rapidly across the plain white fabric, resembling an ugly cloud of stains.

The coffee cup shattered into pieces on the floor, and the crisp sound of cracking porcelain brought the conversation in the entire coffee shop to a standstill for a moment.

Diana could feel the gazes of the surrounding customers; those gazes felt like needles pricking her back, making her cheeks burn and her ears ring.

"It's alright, dear girl, it's just a dress."

The woman's voice was surprisingly gentle, even carrying a hint of comforting laughter.

Only then did Diana dare to look up at the visitor. Morning light streamed through the café's glass, casting dappled shadows on her silhouette. She wore a plain white lab coat with a delicate brooch at the collar. Her long brown hair was neatly pulled back, with a few stray strands falling beside her ears, making her skin appear as warm and ivory.

What was most unforgettable were her eyes—amber pupils with a faint, warm glow at the edges, like melting honey, or the last rays of sunlight at dusk. Diana had never seen such contradictory eyes: both gentle enough to forgive all mistakes, and sharp enough to see right through people's hearts.

Suddenly, she seemed to find the face of this figure in her memory.

She is... Isabella, a true healer who saved tens of thousands of civilians and faced opposition and oppression from powerful figures all by herself.

Her face was incredibly delicate; she could have lived a life of ease based on her looks alone. Yet, this tall woman possessed both noble character and outstanding talent, making her even more perfect and flawless.

No one, or rather everyone in Florence, revered and admired her, and Diana was no exception.

"I...I'll take it to wash for you..." the girl stammered, her fingers twisting the edge of her apron tightly.

She noticed that the woman wore a half-silver mask on her right cheek, while her exposed left cheek was stunningly beautiful. The mask was not merely decorative; it was a perfect fit to the skin, with faint, grotesque scars visible at the edges.

That was the price paid to save the world, proof of noble character, and a sacrifice of selfless dedication.

"No need." The doctor gently pressed her hand down. The moment she touched it, Diana smelled a refreshing herbal scent mixed with a faint smell of disinfectant. "Instead of this, could you please refill my cup? I haven't finished compiling today's consultation forms yet."

She pointed to the medical record spread out on the table, with intricate structural diagrams drawn among the dense handwriting, and traces of coffee stains remaining where the ink had smudged.

"Of course!" Diana hurriedly picked up the broken porcelain shards, but accidentally cut her finger. Just as blood seeped out, the guest suddenly stood up.

"do not move."

She took a medicine bottle from her pocket, deftly picked up a cotton ball, and dipped it in a pale purple liquid. As soon as the cotton ball touched the wound, Diana was surprised to find the pain immediately lessened.

"Is Dr. Valenti inventing a new medicine again?" the elderly gentleman next to me asked with a smile. "The cough syrup you gave old Jack last week made him talk about wanting to recognize you as his goddaughter for three days."

The healer, known as Valenti, smiled slightly, the scar beneath his mask twitching: "I've only improved the herbal extraction process. It's you, Mr. Horn, who should really take care of your health."

The girl stared blankly at her bandaged finger. The bandage was tied into a delicate bow, with a small smiley face drawn on the edge. This gentle detail created a strange contrast with the aloofness of the guest.

Unconsciously, her cheeks flushed slightly. She abruptly looked away, feeling somewhat shy and self-conscious, and dared not look at that focused and beautiful face any longer.

When Diana returned with the freshly brewed coffee, she found Dr. Bella sketching something in the medical record with a pen. The morning light cast tiny fan-shaped shadows on the paper through her lowered eyelashes.

The pen nib occasionally paused, repeatedly circling and dotting a certain symptom description, the ink spreading out in dark patterns.

"Your coffee, ma'am." The young woman carefully placed the cup away from the documents. "There's a spoonful of honey in it."

She suddenly fell silent, realizing she had let something slip. The doctor looked up, his amber eyes narrowing slightly: "You remember my habits?"

"Everyone knows Dr. Valenti loves sweets!" Diana's face flushed red. "The newspapers said you gave candy to the children in the slums, and... and..."

"What else?"

"They also said you spend a tenth of the clinic's income on candy." The girl's voice trailed off. "My sister works at an orphanage, and she said the children there call you 'Candy Angel.'"

"Pfft, that's an interesting way to address you. Thank you, dear girl." The pen paused, leaving dots on the paper.

“Honey helps wounds heal. Besides…” she smiled gently, stirring her coffee with the tip of her spoon, “sweet treats can make people temporarily forget the pain, and a little fruit and a reward can help children and patients forget the bitterness they have endured.”

"Yes, yes, I like it very much too. By the way, Dr. Bella, if you would like, I can ask the chef to send you another small cake!"

She stepped forward, her fingertips touching nervously, like a naive young girl mustering her courage to express her subtle and reserved affection to someone she admires for the first time.

"Customers who have tasted it all praise its unique lemon aroma, which is grown by my mother in the countryside. She recently brought me some more, and I..."

Diana's hand hovered in mid-air, her words abruptly cut off. The doorbell of the café rang crisply, and a delicate scent of lavender wafted in on the breeze.

Everyone's gaze involuntarily turned to the doorway—where stood a breathtakingly beautiful young woman.

Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down to her waist, slightly curled, like a meticulously crafted exhibit. She wore a pearl-grey morning gown, the hem embroidered with silver-threaded irises, which accentuated her slender figure, making her appear both beautiful and fragile. Most breathtaking was her face—her porcelain-white skin was almost like a mirror, her lips like newly blooming roses, and her azure eyes held the ripples of an entire lagoon.

However, this beautiful woman had faint bluish shadows under her eyes, and her slender fingers were nervously twisting her handkerchief.

“Dr. Bella,” her voice was like the plucked strings of a harp, “so you’ve been here.”

"Eliza".

The doctor's voice softened noticeably, and his gaze, which had been focused on the medical records, was now completely captured by the figure in the doorway. Diana saw the corners of the doctor's lips, visible beneath his mask, slightly upturned; the smile was completely different from his previous polite one, carrying a certain indescribable warmth.

"Your cake..." The girl timidly handed over the porcelain plate, only to find that the distinguished guest—no, he could no longer be called a guest at this moment—had already stood up, the hem of his white coat sweeping across the corner of the table, bringing with it a ruthless breeze.

Diana's call faded away as the two beauties exchanged glances.

She didn't care about lemons, or rather, she never really cared about that slightly sour fruit from the soil and among the green leaves.

The girl watched as the two naturally closed the distance between them. Eliza Dikbatov—Florence's most dazzling opera star—was gently stroking the edge of the healer's mask with her veiled fingertips. This intimate gesture caused gasps to rise and fall throughout the café.

"Eliza, your appointment is at three in the afternoon."

"But I want to see you, Dr. Bella."

The hem of her skirt rustled against the floor, and Diana noticed that the woman walked with a slight limp, her right leg seemingly impaired. But this did not diminish the girl's elegance in the slightest; instead, it added a touch of pitiful vulnerability.

Are you upset that I disturbed your work?

Eliza's question was exceptionally soft, like a feather falling to the ground, her blue eyes sweeping across the messy table.

"How could that be? On the contrary, have you been sleeping soundly lately?" Without any hint of reproach, Charlotte had already walked around the table and naturally put her arm around her waist. "After the wandering spirits were subdued, those incoherent ramblings should no longer affect you."

"Yes, with your help, everything is getting better. The existence of extraordinary beings is truly amazing. It turns out that my mother was not cursed, but rather her ancestors had an excessive spirituality in their bloodline, which was not guided or inherited."

It is an intertwining of emotions, a lingering sigh, containing regret and remorse, yet all of which are overshadowed by a single sentence.

"However, I never imagined that you, Dr. Bella, would also be involved in this. Although it was a bitter consequence that you had no choice in, looking at it from another perspective, it may be a kind of luck for both of us."

"If it weren't for you, the plague would have broken out; if it weren't for you, I would have been bewitched by the wandering spirits for the rest of my life. Sequences, potions, rituals—they fit together so perfectly, as if they were made for me."

The barrier of sight and sound may obscure extraordinary knowledge from the ears of the masses, but the intimate gestures remain unchanged.

With the help of the Steam Church, Eliza has accepted the wandering spirit, unleashing her innate talents, turning the past performances into a prelude to a ritual, thoroughly digesting the spirituality of the potion, and standing with the healer in the same place, namely Sequence Seven.

“As for today, I finished my vocal practice ahead of schedule.” Raising her eyebrows slightly, the black-haired girl pushed a small food box to the center of the table, “thinking that you might not have had lunch yet.”

The moment the food box was opened, a rich aroma filled the air. Inside were several exquisitely shaped macarons, each adorned with edible violets—the very flower representing Eliza's iconic role at the Royal Opera House.

"It looks delicious, you must have worked hard, good girl."

“No, it’s all thanks to you that I have this peace and leisure to pursue my hobbies…” Eliza admitted softly, then noticed the plain-looking girl standing to the side, “And this is?”

Diana awkwardly curtsied, her heart pounding. She had actually seen Florence's most famous opera singer, the young lady from the Dikbatov family, who was adored by countless nobles.

"Dina, the waitress here." The doctor's introduction was as concise as before, but now it sounded almost perfunctory to his ears. "A lovely young girl."

Eliza's expression turned slightly cold, but she simply extended her hand to Diana with an elegance reminiscent of a heroine bestowing a favor in an opera: "It's a pleasure to meet you. Dr. Bella often mentions Lanting's coffee..."

Clenching her fingers, the rough fabric rubbed against her palms, causing a slight pain. The girl looked at the outstretched hand, clad in a lace glove—the fingers were so slender they seemed about to snap, the nails perfectly manicured, a healthy pink. And her own hands? Dirt clung between her fingers, her knuckles calloused and rough from years of soaking in detergent, a tinge of unhealthy red.

“I…I am honored, Miss Dickbatov…” Her voice was low, and her figure was almost drowned out by the loud whispers in the coffee shop.

"That's the daughter of the Dikbatov family..."

"I heard her relationship with Dr. Valenti goes beyond what's publicly known..."

"Although it's a rare sight, considering their experiences and appearances, they are undeniably a good match..."

Feeling the tray in her hands become incredibly heavy, she stood there helplessly, as if she were standing alone at the intersection of two worlds—on one side were ordinary waitresses like dust, and on the other side were stars bathed in spotlights.

"What would you like to order?"

Diana's lips moved, and she rubbed her hands on the apron in front of her thighs, trying to come up with something more worthy of someone's attention, something decent enough.

But only Eliza watched her quietly, frowned slightly, and spoke again calmly.