Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

The answer was still negative, but as Charlotte drank the potion and completed the ritual of advancement, she could clearly feel that the ocean of spirituality was only partially occupied, and there was still plenty of space to explore alternative paths.

This is a question that needs further exploration, and the arbitrator's statement also implies that even Melissand herself is not fully aware of her own unique circumstances.

So, should this be attributed to talent and genius?

Charlotte took a sip of hot tea, letting the rich aroma soothe her throat and tongue, before raising her neck to meet those beautiful, dark golden eyes.

As mentioned earlier, the woman in front of her had already answered many of her questions, and it was time for her to make a request and pay the price.

To conspire with a tiger is to only end up losing your own flesh.

"Looks like you're all prepared? Why don't you learn to close your eyes, purse your lips, bite down on a towel, and quietly wait for the pain to come, like a little girl?"

Her crimson lips drew near her fair ear, exhaling warm, moist breath that painted her with an intoxicating blush.

Without disdain, arrogance, or even a hint of mockery, Melissant simply gently pulled Charlotte into her bosom, nestling her between her knees, offering her a warm pillow.

"Don't be nervous, girl. Untimely stories are often told as lies, just like back then. I want you."

"I love the way you look with a blank expression in the snow, I love the purity in your heart."

Her deep, melancholic voice, like a lullaby, soothes weariness in the hazy starlight and gentle breeze, bringing a warmth akin to that of newborns.

she says:

“Miss Charlotte, I formally invite you to join the Enlightenment Society.”

Chapter Ninety-Three: Gratitude and Reunion with Sofby

Beyond the curtains, swirling skirts and melodious music flowed out, the beauty's invitation still lingering in her ears, when a Manx cat from the villa, disoriented, parted the window curtains and wobbled onto Charlotte's lap.

“Do I have room to refuse?”

She raised her arm to push away Melissant's gentle embrace, but did not chase away the cat that happened to be there. The fragrance of her pregnant breasts was intoxicating, but she did not like it. She did not like being at a disadvantage and being passive.

In life, everyone encounters people who are incompatible with them, and for Charlotte, Mélisande is definitely a prime example.

However, it cannot be denied that she was quite patient with herself, just like Watson with the birds. She appreciated her own performance like an audience member, yet selflessly made up for any flaws, making the opera a masterpiece.

This act of charity may have been ill-intentioned, but it was definitely a profound act of kindness. However, Charlotte did not believe in the so-called love. In her eyes, they were just strangers who had met once, so how could there be any love between them? The unequal situation was the root of her unease.

Gently stroking the tailless Manx cat in my arms, and with a few soft murmurs, the clumsy little beast curled up and lazily fell into a deep sleep, completely unaware of its surroundings.

"Of course, if it were you, I would have plenty of patience. As I said, this is an equal dialogue."

Upon hearing the inquiry seeking a turning point and seeing the hedgehog-like wariness, Melissand slightly raised her lips, revealing a faint smile.

"Although many of your words are tinged with playful coaxing, some of them are indeed true. Bird of the Golden Flower, as an extraordinary being of blue blood, a part of your blood and flesh belongs to the past, and to us."

With her arm, draped in black gauze, as her pillow, the blue-haired beauty gazed silently at Charlotte, her gaze unwavering.

she says:

“Your concerns are unnecessary. The Enlightenment Society is not an evil and false religion. Just like the three major churches rooted in the empire, it has a more prestigious name on the other side of the ocean, just like those bound people who wear the name of the true god.”

Adding wax to the candlelight to dispel the hazy gloom, Melissant's voice was neither dry nor impatient, without contempt or sarcasm; she was simply stating the facts and telling the truth.

"The wheels of history have rolled over countless injustices, seeping out drops of blue blood. People crawl forward in search of light, but they remain in darkness, their eyes blinded by the ink of time, never seeing the daylight."

The fragrant scent stirred the candlelight, casting dappled shadows that transformed into the eyeshadow applied by the blue-haired beauty.

"Initially, no one knew what mystery and the extraordinary were rooted in. They looked through those ancient texts and, through years of comparison, came to understand some of the meanings of the words. That's why there was a supreme deity and a universal church that listens to divine pronouncements and carries out its doctrines."

"The story was perfected, the characters were made concrete, and potions and rituals came into being. Following in the footsteps of our ancestors and imitating the ways of ancient gods, it was like a natural stroke of the pen, and the background of the world was completed."

Unlike Ms. Mossant's emotional account, if judged from a doctrinal perspective, Melissant's words are nothing short of disrespectful to God, and could even be called blasphemy.

"The Enlightenment Society was founded by a wise woman whose ancient Sue language possesses the miracle of resonating directly with the forces of nature. She was born in a dark and chaotic era, yet she did not lose her way in the quagmire of war and persecution. She was a wise seeker of knowledge and a lamplighter yearning for the truth."

"She tried to unravel the mystery, to discover the special nature of the blue blood, and to find its extraordinary origin, but human strength is finite and life is finite. In the end, she was unable to achieve her wish."

At this point, Melissand's eyelashes fluttered slightly, and she turned her face away as if she felt the same way.

"Her books were secretly burned, and the few that survived became treasures of the Enlightenment Society, laying the foundation and direction for our current research. My compatriots and I believe that history should not have unfolded this way, and that the extraordinary origins do not lie with God—"

Before the blue-haired beauty could finish speaking, Charlotte raised her voice, stopping the words that were about to spill from her lips.

“That’s enough, Ms. Melissand.”

Her lips moved in a cool, clear tone, just like Miss O'Shaw. She was like a lingering lilac, unable to utter sharp words, but only speaking softly, like a gentle stream.

It's not that it's unpleasant to hear, but what comes next is not something an outsider can hear or understand. She has to leave herself room to choose. If she does whatever she wants, then she will have no reason to get away.

Despite her inner thoughts, Charlotte was actually quite interested. Driven by her interest, but not by reason, her thirst for knowledge stirred within her, giving her the same melancholy that a little girl might feel when she misses out on her beloved Eclairs toffee.

Because of this sudden sound, the Manx cat in her arms yawned, seemingly dissatisfied with this exaggerated and slightly unladylike behavior. It jumped up, leaped from the square fir wood table to the burgundy carpet in front of the door, and gracefully walked out of the cubicle.

"I think I can understand what you mean to me, madam. Like an immortal poem in a biography, extraordinary power comes suddenly, seemingly only to highlight the greatness of the savior, like many unrealistic fantasies."

"It's like when we want to get a certain item, it just happens to appear; when we want to visit a certain friend, he just happens to knock on the door; when we desire something to happen, it just happens to open at the same moment."

Isn't this good? For her, who enjoys playing games with people, creating excitement is a survival instinct, and coincidence is a convenient way to benefit herself, so why not?

So she reached out to touch the porcelain spoon handle. Half of the pine resin cake remained, but before Charlotte could savor its sweetness, a cold finger pressed against her lips, leaving her wanting more and causing her to feel the moisture.

It's Melissant.

No longer a knowing smile, she remained composed, but her expression revealed an unusual sadness, as if the absurdity she had just recounted might be some kind of settled ending.

"Too many coincidences weave together the threads of fate, making it look and sound like a predetermined future—that's my opinion."

"The steam roared, the ferries sounded their horns, and the power of science and industry was self-evident. It should have become a huge wave that even Noah's Ark could not withstand. However, since the year of the Holy Advent, it has stopped moving and could not move an inch."

"The further I go on extraordinary paths, the more unfamiliar I become with this mysterious power. The White Cliffs of Bosworth, the end of Coney in Castile, I have lived through so many years that sometimes I even doubt that I am no longer myself."

A sigh escaped her lips, her thin, vermilion lips barely moving as a spoonful of rich cream was delivered to the blue-haired beauty through her delicate, white fingertips.

It's Charlotte.

No longer was she indifferent; she remained calm, but her eyes revealed a rare concern, as if she genuinely cared about the person in front of her.

"Madam, I said back then that even after weathering many storms, one still possesses a dignified grace that comes with time. Time may hurt, but every scratch it leaves on the body will polish the tender skin, like a snake shedding the past, so that one can wait for the warm spring and nurture the rich aroma of time."

"Ah, open your mouth~ Madam, this is a resin cake, the national treasure of the Kingdom of Goldenleaf. Why don't you squint your eyes like a little girl, savor the crumbs, and immerse yourself in the satisfaction this sweet treat brings?"

"After all, this is a symbol of youth, sweet and sour, but not cloying at all."

As the words faded, the silly cat from the Isle of Man, also from the Yanin Peninsula, sneaked in through the crack in the door of the cubicle. It leaped up and landed lightly in Charlotte's arms, meowing softly as if trying to soothe the bitterness in their words.

Without saying another word, Charlotte stroked her hair with her fingers while gazing at the bustling traffic outside. A light drizzle began to fall, and raindrops of varying sizes pattered against the windowpane, blurring everything in sight into a dense, indistinct mass of dust.

The coachman began whipping his swift steed, but the steam train continued its unhurried journey along the tracks, moving forward relentlessly despite the relentless wind and rain.

"..."

After a moment of silence, Melissant smiled. She took the porcelain spoon and, under Charlotte's astonished gaze, unreasonably ate the rest of the cake, leaving not a single drop.

She ate until her mouth was covered in white stains, but she ate with great satisfaction and contentment.

Staring blankly, Charlotte suddenly regretted saying that.

Upon seeing this, the blue-haired beauty's smile seemed even brighter and more radiant. She said:

"The books written by our predecessors formed the foundation of our organization. In the beginning, the members simply discussed academic matters, searched for extraordinary threads in the course of history, and debated the existence of deities. However, they always needed help when they encountered difficulties, and the same was true when they lacked resources and research materials. Therefore, the Enlightenment Society gradually developed rules and regulations and transformed into a truly secretive organization."

"It doesn't have too many dogmas and rules. Rather than a rigid church, it's more like a study group for seekers of knowledge. You can think of it as a haven, a home."

Small-scale, broad and loosely organized, with low mobility—Charlotte simply labeled the Enlightenment Society, setting aside the description of a haven and home.

It's no wonder that this organization's development in Hastings has been slow. Going against the tide of the times and the needs of the ruling class, denying God and the church, and pursuing true knowledge, isn't this the most typical example of a false religion that is easily labeled as such by the authorities?

It sounds quite free, without any restrictions, but is it really as Melissant says?

That's probably not entirely true. The other party easily crushed Count Cliff by using his own cursive script, and the purpose of this action alone is not transparent enough.

There are countless faces that resemble that knight. If one Bathory falls, another nobleman will take his place. It's just a matter of changing surnames. The lack of information prevents her from figuring out Melissant's plans for the time being.

Fortunately, the benefit of remaining silent was that she could still decline the invitation as an outsider who knew very little about the matter.

"Madam, I already have my own home, even if it's just a small home for one person right now."

Charlotte Brontë's black flower blooms quietly in a corner, blooming alone.

She gently smoothed the wrinkles on her skirt as she carried the silly cat into the cubicle, then stood up, bent over, and gracefully said goodbye.

"The tides of time rise and fall, just as day and night alternate. Madam, there are many things we cannot accept, let alone understand."

It is not to express one's own dissent, but merely to declare one's existing fate as a future traveler.

In fact, long before regaining her freedom, she had already decided on the path her true self wanted to take—to worship the Primordial Goddess and become a believer protected by a righteous god.

This wasn't out of any particular reverence; it was simply that, comparatively, the Primordial Goddess had established her religion earlier and, through the accumulation of time, had mastered several avenues for advancement, making it the sect with the most followers in the empire. As Miss Earl, who lost both parents, her identity was innocent, her life story was traceable, and her exoneration and extraordinary encounters served as perfect stepping stones. As Charlotte, who replaced her predecessor, her abundant spirituality allowed her to explore various options. Rationally analyzing her current situation, she indeed needed a large enough shield, whether to fill knowledge gaps or to consider future development.

Everything about the Enlightenment Society is too unknown. While puppets may indulge themselves as they please, the real person should walk the upright path and the safe and secure road of peace of mind.

Most importantly, Charlotte is a grateful woman. Since the goddess's swordsman, Sylva, helped her, she should become his colleague.

As her thoughts swirled, the blue-haired beauty had already wrapped her arms around her waist, lowering her head to whisper a moist breath into her ear.

"Charlotte, I understand your thoughts. As a carefree child, you will always be attracted by the butterflies among the flowers. But what the Enlightenment Society needs is not rigid loyalty. What it provides is a warm harbor. If you are tired or weary from playing, you can always come home. That door will always be open for you."

"This is an invitation that will never go out of style, just for you."

Melissant gently played with the floral ornament in Charlotte's hair, more carefree than the mischievous cat. She moved first, but did not go far, only considerately holding the half-open door for Charlotte.

"I will stay in Tingen for a few more days. Whether it is a well-considered agreement or simply out of longing, I await your arrival."

She turned away and walked away, her figure receding into the distance. The sound of her high heels striking the bricks echoed the firmness in her words.

The invited band then played the third melody, "Passionate as Fire," a famous piece from Florence. The restless notes seemed to leap from the instruments, intertwining together as if igniting the brightly lit courtyard on the seaside cliffs. The air grew warm, and everyone in the room quickened their pace. A splash of bright red stepped into the midst of the ordinary crowd.

The rosy glow painted the dusky yellow, gradually adding vibrant colors to the stage.

Her flowing skirt resembled the crimson maple leaves on an autumn lakeside, and her proud figure was edged with a faint white under the lamplight. The resolute bird no longer concealed its brilliance; when she once again displayed her former charm, all the colors around her melted away, and everything beneath her singular center became the background color of an oil painting.

That was "Only for You," and also Skoy's "Unwavering in This Life." The vibrant colors transformed into tail feathers, adorning her wishes and herself.

She stood in the center of the ball, her graceful dance resembling a phoenix spreading its tail feathers, or a bird returning home after the loss of its wife.

It's Sofby.

Chapter Ninety-Four: Lifelong Regret and Strangers

The initial enthusiasm, though initially intense, quickly faded. Before long, the music slowed down, and the peacocks, which had been displaying their plumage, stopped.

Her toes stopped abruptly, and her body leaned back, as if she was exhausted or overwhelmed. Fortunately, Charlotte, who had been watching for a while, stepped forward and gently placed her arm around her waist, letting the slender woman rest in her arms.

"Madam, even the most passionate dance requires attention to your health. Don't let your emotions overwhelm your mind."

Without taking any further action, Charlotte offered only a token assistance before stepping back with impeccable gentlemanly manners.

"...Thank you."

A faint fragrance lingered at the tip of her nose, and Sufby's expression was slightly dazed. In her eyes was that unfamiliar person, but in her heart she couldn't help but think of the deceased white-haired girl.

Since falling into the mire, only she was willing to abandon her noble demeanor, embrace her own waist, and utter cunning words, sometimes distant, sometimes intimate.

That elusive distance, that disappointment and despondency, are memories I can't forget, and absolutely refuse to let go of.

Watson once helped himself up in the same way, but this time it was different.

Even though their demeanor was similar, only when she got closer did she clearly realize that the beautiful woman in front of her was a completely different being.

Serene and undisturbed by the ripples on the water, they offered their help out of courtesy.

Yes, Watson is dead. She despicably deceived herself one last time with the lie called life, but now, intuition drives Sophie to absurdly believe that the beautiful woman in front of her bears some resemblance to Watson.

Charlotte Earl, a poor girl whose entire family was framed by Bathory, is not much different from my former self.

Because of the bloodshed that occurred at the Blooming Flowers Art Exhibition, the wronged predecessors were exonerated, and her connection with Watson was only superficial.

Am I thinking about her too much?

A bitter feeling welled up in her heart, and she turned her face away, looking elsewhere.

Yes, how could she not think about it, how could she forget it? In this coastal city, only a few people remember Watson's deeds. He died far from home. If even she herself had forgotten, who else would remember that the land beneath her feet had once flowed with the blood of a young girl and echoed with her joyful laughter?

As someone saved by Josephine, she has yet to repay the debt of gratitude, neither before nor now.

...Watson, you're a real bastard.

You made a long and tender promise, only to leave without a word. You said that when the wind was tired and the clouds were weary, I would finally find your true heart, but from beginning to end, it was all a lie to deceive me.

I will never believe again, absolutely not.