Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

she says:

Good morning, my doctor.

Chapter 200 The Flames of Jealousy

Ignoring the blooming roses before him, the healer simply pulled the girl into his arms, letting the dew soak the front of his robe, leaving behind a few translucent flower patterns.

“You are more punctual than the morning prayer bells.” Charlotte lowered her chin, inhaling the fragrance of the beauty in her arms. “After a peaceful night, on this morning after the performance, I thought you would rest a little longer.”

Eliza's earlobes were tinged with a faint blush. Today, she had specially changed into a tea party dress that was easy to wear and easy to carry. The light purple fabric was embroidered with simple and elegant floral branches, just to shed the identity given to her by the world and be an ordinary girl, to savor life with her lover and walk together for a long time.

However, once she saw the faint red bite mark on the doctor's collarbone, her cheeks involuntarily burned; it was the fruit of her own willful indulgence.

"I...I brought breakfast."

Croissant wrapped in kraft paper peeked out of the basket with its golden edges peeking out. The sweet aroma of honey mixed with the bitterness of coffee filled the entryway. She tried to use this to cover up her slight lapse in composure, but she couldn't take her eyes off her lover.

A warmth rose from her heart, and Charlotte naturally noticed the water droplets clinging to the other's hair. The outer city of Florence was shrouded in thick fog all day long, and even by special train carriage, it took several hours to arrive from the inner city. This realization brought a slight bitterness to her throat—her lover had traveled across half the city just to deliver a bouquet of flowers covered in morning dew.

"Come in." Without any embellishment, she simply grasped the girl's slender wrist and locked the door behind her as the girl stumbled into the entryway.

The bouquet of roses rolled onto the Persian carpet, scattering a few petals. The rhythmic ticking of the punk-style mechanical clock on the wall drowned out the sudden, rapid breathing.

It's a forward-leaning kiss, a response to this sentiment.

Eliza's back was firmly against the sofa, sunlight filtering through her hair and falling on her collarbone. There, the lingering traces of last night's intimacy remained, faintly visible with each breath. As she tilted her head back to receive this sudden kiss, Charlotte tasted the coolness of the Florence morning mist, and the sweetness hidden between her lips and teeth.

"You said..." The broken sentence escaped from their kissing lips, "The doctor-patient relationship..."

The beautiful woman rubbed her teeth against the other's lower lip, feeling the body beneath her palm tremble slightly with satisfaction. "This is private time."

She tucked the girl's curly hair behind her ear, her fingertips intentionally or unintentionally brushing against her burning earlobe. "Eliza, your hysteria is cured. You are no longer my patient. Or perhaps you want to maintain a purely platonic relationship with me?"

"Who was it that pleaded and expressed their feelings that night? Silly girl, did you even consider the possibility of being refused?"

This is obviously a rhetorical question.

The slender body in her arms stopped trembling and relaxed like a taut string. Eliza didn't explain, but buried her pretty face in the crook of his shoulder, parted her lips slightly, and revealed a smile that was somewhere between shyness and slyness.

"Of course, because as a doctor, you are so perfect and so selfless. At the moment I spoke, I regretted it, but if I had kept my lips sealed and remained silent, I think it would have been a lifelong regret."

She reached into his palm and traced her fingers across the lines of his hand, as if confirming something real.

Even if I am harshly rejected, ostracized, or criticized by you, I will accept it calmly. Because this is the only choice I have made.

"At least, I believe that the opera stars of Florence, the lonely and helpless patients, still hold a place in your heart, enough to make you tremble with pity, even if it means telling a white lie."

Eliza reached out and grasped the healer's hand, pressing it against her heart. "Now, there's only room for you in my heart."

Boiling water was poured into the cup, dissolving the tea bag that had settled at the bottom. Charlotte didn't object or make a sound; she simply stirred the spoon handle, watching the girl's face become veiled in the steam.

"It's my pleasure."

In the end, she simply made this bland summary.

The croissant was even more delicious with the addition of raspberry sauce. The brown-haired beauty tore off a small, slightly tangled piece and offered it to her lover's lips.

"No rehearsal today?"

“It doesn’t start until three in the afternoon.” Lowering her voice, Eliza leaned forward like a child sharing a secret. “I postponed the rehearsal of Turandot—Count Hall was so angry his mustache stood on end. After all, he had made a bold promise to all those dignitaries, guaranteeing my attendance.”

This playful little gesture reminded Charlotte of that trembling kiss on the mountaintop that day. Now, the morning light pierced through the girl's earlobe, turning the pale blue veins into a translucent amber color. She suddenly reached out and pinched the burning earlobe, and was delighted to see the other girl's slight surprise as she almost spilled her drink.

Delicious and irresistible.

The ticking of the clock and the hum of the oven told Charlotte the time. These everyday sounds suddenly gave Charlotte a feeling that the warmth of the moment was just as precious as, or perhaps even more precious than, any deliberately created romance.

"Breaking a promise is not the proper conduct for a noble lady."

To cover up her momentary lapse in concentration, she teased him like this.

"But this is Eliza, the real me stripped of my wandering spirit. For the people I care about, an actress on stage is willing to give up those worldly fame and vanity, and is no longer willing to conform to the shaping of others."

Without dodging or avoiding, Eliza's eyes shimmered with tender affection, reserved only for the former.

“It’s really amazing. Over the years, I’ve played countless tragic deceased characters, but it wasn’t until the moment you looked at me that I truly came alive for the first time.”

In the warm morning light, after a hearty meal, a touch of languor inevitably creeps into their bodies and minds. Lying together on the wide side of the sofa, they simply snuggle close, watching the birds outside the window flutter their wings and perch in a rare, secluded corner of green shade.

"Bella, I heard that you specifically requested to be transferred to this city because you were concerned about the epidemic in Florence?"

It was seemingly aimless idle talk.

"Yes, my past experiences make it impossible for me to stand idly by."

"Will you go back? Will you stay in this city?"

The girl's eyelashes cast a fan-shaped shadow on her cheek.

"No, because the current almshouse needs to be demolished and rebuilt, and the will of the people has put me in that position."

This was merely a formality and clearly did not meet the former's expectations.

"..." Eliza paused for a moment before speaking again. "Actually, the theater is going on tour to Milan next month."

She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of the ceramic cup. "The whole month."

Seemingly without any deeper meaning in her words, Charlotte simply offered a blessing between close friends. "The starry sky in Milan is clearer than in Frenza. When you get there, remember to write to me."

Eliza's knife and fork scraped harshly against the plate. She jerked her head up, disbelief gleaming in her indigo eyes: "You won't...you won't try to stop me? If you had just said the word, I would..."

These words were almost squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a deep sense of questioning.

The doctor didn't look at the patient, but sighed and uttered the name, "Eliza."

Love is never a prison.

“You always do this…” Her voice was as soft as a sob, “giving the choice to others.” Her thin fingers gripped the edge of the tablecloth tightly. “Just like when you treated my hysteria, you only gave me options and then silently watched.”

"So, what do you want?" Charlotte asked calmly, her tone neither too harsh nor too gentle. "Should I quit my job at the clinic, abandon my patients, and go on tour with you? Or should I selfishly lock you up here..."

Before she could finish speaking, Eliza leaned in and kissed her. The kiss carried the sweetness of honey, the bitterness of coffee, and the salty taste of tears. The girl's hair bun fell apart in the entanglement, a strand of black hair slipping out and hanging over the tie of her nightgown, over the beauty's brown hair, like ink spreading on linen.

“I want you to say you can’t bear to part with me.” After a long silence, their lips parted, and Eliza whispered, “I want you to admit you’ll miss me.” Her nails dug into Charlotte’s shoulder. “I want you… to be a little less perfect just once.”

The sunlight had climbed onto the corner of the table, gazing at her lover's moist eyelashes. Charlotte had tasted the fruit of seduction, savoring the longing and reluctance others felt for her.

then--

“I will miss the fragrance of your hair every morning,” she finally spoke, her voice hoarse and unlike her own. “I will drift off during consultations and think of your smile when you took your final bow.”

His fingers traced the corners of the girl's reddened eyes. "Even now..."

"I'm already starting to feel jealous of the air in Milan."

Chapter 201 The Sparks of War

Somehow, society started to become unsettled.

It seemed as if overnight, many conflicts were ignited. Between ethnic groups, one could often see different people waving different flags and shouting different slogans, either clashing with each other or simply causing destruction and retaliation against society. Between nations, newspaper headlines were filled with various international affairs, new alliances emerged, old allies betrayed each other, and empires launched one bloodless struggle after another for their own interests.

The jewelry you held yesterday may become something less than a stepping stone today.

The banknotes you had last month will be worthless paper tomorrow.

At first, nobody believed it.

People sing praises of their country, saying it will last forever and be the greatest existence in the world.

At first, no one cared.

It was just a march, a riot, a conflict...

Until it becomes relevant to everyone.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen! The land beneath our feet belongs to the ancient and great Hadings Empire! It possesses the most expansive territory, both on land and at sea! Under the leadership of Emperor Rothari, our nation will surely usher in unprecedented glory!"

An unprecedented fervor swept across the land. People yearned for a change, a change powerful enough to transform the world.

A war that changed the world.

Everyone yearns for war because they have never experienced the torment of blood and fire.

Perhaps this is the opening page and prelude to the third chapter.

......

[His wistful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night.]

Her ardent face, like night rain, accompanies my dreams.

The pen tip lingered on the punctuation mark, and the dark blue ink, like the writer's thoughts, spread across the letter. By the time the writer realized what had happened, the punctuation mark had already become an ink blot, beyond redemption.

"Ugh, my train of thought has stalled again."

The emerald parrot turned its head and took a deep breath, as if sighing all its troubles onto the letter.

With a flick of her wrist, she deftly crossed out the contents of the letter. Skillfully, she crumpled the paper into a ball with one hand and tossed it into the trash can behind her, but clearly, the trash can was already full of similar crumpled papers, leaving no room for this small, deformed piece of paper.

until--

Da da.

A rhythmic knocking sound came from beside my ear. Before I could get up, a beautiful figure pushed open the door, bringing a caring yet distant greeting, and a bright but fleeting twilight glow.

Her breathing was no longer confined by the cramped room, and the lingering heat in the wind gradually faded with the arrival of the former, while the evening breeze also helped her restless mind to clear.

Good evening, Miss Melina.

The brown-haired beauty did not approach; she simply stood to one side of the door, the corner of her white-trimmed coat gently lifted by the draft, revealing a neatly ironed dark shirt underneath.

“When I went to the almshouse this morning, I noticed that your door was closed, and judging from the dust that had accumulated in front of the door, it seemed that you had stayed inside all day?”

"However, my thoughts are a bit stuck."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Melina looked down at her wrinkled nightgown and bare feet, her fingers unconsciously twisting together. "Dr. Bella, you know, this is a common problem among creators."

"A temporary blockage won't make people forget to eat, rest, or even draw back the curtains to let in a ray of warm sunshine."

Charlotte walked to the window and deftly pulled back the curtains, instantly flooding the room with the afterglow of the setting sun, causing the little parrot to squint its eyelashes.

"Besides, I remember you said something similar last week."

The fairy of the stage, her lover Eliza, had already left the city on the evening breeze, heading to distant Milan. Therefore, in addition to his personal rounds, the doctor did not mind once again coming to see the birds that had once surrounded him.

It was just necessary concern between friends.

Although she had already been promoted to Sequence Eight 'Balancer' and could see the girls' recent situation through the ocean of spirituality, getting involved and manipulating them was much more interesting than silently watching.

“You’re right… but this time the situation is different.”

Melina sighed, raised her arm to rest her head on her side, and looked genuinely distressed.

"The newspaper's editor-in-chief always intercepts my reports, repeatedly exaggerating the importance of events to grab attention. Of course, I know this is a common occurrence, and I can force myself to go with the flow, to accept it, and to ignore it."

"After all, it's just an unnecessary, sinecure, a way to provide ideas for writing and to find material in a legitimate way."

An upward-sounding opening often foreshadows a subsequent turning point.

"But they want me to go against my conscience and ignore the suffering of the people in a disaster, to talk in detail about those vulgar and commonplace aristocratic banquets, and to talk about their benevolence of 'compassion for the people'."

"This is deception, this is confusion."

The girl's words suddenly became agitated, and even the two feathers tucked in her hair stood up angrily.

“I can refuse, I can stand by and do nothing, of course I can do that, but I can’t stop my colleagues, I can’t stop the current social trend.”

Pulling out a stack of yellowed sketch paper from the pile of books beside her, she lowered her head angrily, yet also with a sense of grief and helplessness.

"In my newly released novel, I depicted the suffering and hardship of people and wrote about the harsh conditions of laborers under the Industrial Revolution. But whether they were high-ranking officials or ordinary citizens, they had no interest in reading such apt words. They were either indifferent to them or hated seeing their own appearance."

“What’s even more despicable is that the editors of those newspapers even stole my excerpts and rewrote them into satirical rhetoric about the public.”

The doctor picked up a page that had drifted to his feet; it depicted, drawn in pencil, the numb faces of the female workers on the assembly line, like neatly arranged stamps.

“What you’re really anxious about isn’t the inaccuracy of the report.” Charlotte’s long, slender fingers paused below her trembling earlobe, and she brought her breath close to her lips, sending a warm breath through her nose. “It’s that you’re finding your words becoming the ripples that are fueling the fire, and that you’re powerless to stop it.”

Melina's eyes narrowed slightly, as if those words had pierced the softest part of her heart. She opened her mouth, but only managed a few short, breathy sounds, like a lark with wings wet from the rain.

The cries of newsboys drifted in from outside the window, and the ink-printed headlines pierced the twilight—"The Empire's invincible fleet has crossed the ocean and utterly annihilated the sea monsters that invaded our coastal waters! Proclaim our nation's greatness, and glorify our nation's name!"

Charlotte saw the girl's fingertips dig deeply into the sketch paper, the leaden faces twisting and deforming in the folds.

“Yes, Dr. Bella, you’re right, everything lately seems like some kind of omen…”