Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

You must want to see me with tears streaming down my face, my eyes red and swollen, crying my heart out for you, tossing and turning in bed, my heart and eyes filled with memories of the past, right?

The tears had long since dried, just as the girl murmured to herself—Watson, you've got what you wanted.

Pain and emptiness engulfed the days and nights that followed, until Watson turned into spring mud, and Suebeth realized the true place that white-haired girl held in her heart.

Even though love between women is not popular in society, the little peacock fell in love with her uncontrollably. He loved her sweet words of love that extended to everything related to her, loved her heroic act of saving the world, and loved her unwavering promises like a prince on a white horse.

Watson was never a good lover; she was like an illusion. If you didn't touch her, she would reflect a beautiful rainbow in the sunlight; if you did touch her, she would turn into a wisp of breeze that you couldn't hold in your palm.

Which girl doesn't love romantic stories? Which girl doesn't yearn for her destined knight to brave swords and arrows to lift her from the mud? Nothing can stop the knight's steps, just as no one can shatter a girl's false and fragile dream.

However, the white-haired girl was too contradictory. Sophie believed that she could do everything, but she also felt that everything she brought would turn into dust and disappear one day in the future. That's why she wanted to truly hold Josephine in her arms and ask for a lifelong promise.

You said, waiting for a miracle to happen. Yes, if there is a chance to come back, if there is a chance to be reunited, she will never let that strand of silver hair slip through her fingers again. She will build a tower with a thousand eyes and imprison that rootless Yunping in the deep palace.

lifetime.

Taking a sip of hot tea, Charlotte sat at the edge of the banquet and watched the frail little sparrow with deep affection, as if reminiscing. The fruit tea with honey should have been sweet, but when it went down her throat, it had a slightly astringent taste.

This is why?

In the past, she knew she was a wicked person and always loved reading those heart-wrenching love stories. Whenever the male and female protagonists were temporarily separated due to misunderstandings, the male protagonist would row his boat and gradually sink under the moonlight and the lake, while the female protagonist was being bullied and humiliated on the other side. When she lost something that could never be recovered, she laughed with extra joy.

Of course, she never put herself in the characters' shoes, nor had she ever experienced loving someone else, so she had no empathy for such love and sorrow. Therefore, she always sat aloof in front of the screen, sneering and mocking the foolishness of the characters in the drama, turning their pain into a source of her own happiness, and looking forward to what would happen next.

She still couldn't empathize with those loves and sorrows, but seeing Su Fubi's haggard face, she lost her former carefree spirit and felt a tightness in her chest. This was not a good thing, because it meant that she still cared about the little peacock to some extent. With care comes weakness, and with weakness comes the possibility that someone will eventually seize the weakness and strike her where it hurts, causing her to fall into the mud and cry bitterly.

Ultimately, is it because of the different circumstances, or because I myself have changed?

Charlotte couldn't help but step forward, wanting to get a little closer to the bird to test her own feelings, but Sophie turned her eyes away, without her usual surprised smile, and just nodded slightly like a stranger, as if asking for her meaning.

"..."

A sudden pang of pain shot through her heart. The stark contrast in their treatment left her speechless for a moment before she calmed herself down, offering only a faint, insignificant expression of concern as if they were complete strangers.

"Madam, don't let your worries weigh down your beautiful eyebrows."

Not for a deep friendship, but just for a superficial acquaintance, Charlotte still wanted to get a good look at Sophie, this heartbroken, homeless little bird, within sight.

“Miss Earl, thank you for your concern. My name is Sophie Dill, and it is an honor to meet such a lady as you today.”

With her chin slightly raised, revealing half of her fair neck, the red-haired girl gracefully opened her lips and spoke in a polite tone.

That was the proper etiquette among nobles, a peacock's usual slight arrogance towards others.

The person is gone, but we still remember Watson's words. She said that she loved her bright appearance, so Sophie would hold her head high again for her sake, regain her dignity, and return to Florence step by step to become the jewel she hoped for.

Therefore, she needed friends in social circles, and Charlotte, who had fallen out of favor with Tongze, was just right, as a friend only on the surface.

In fact, from the moment the exhibition ended and blood flowed, the extraordinary characteristics of the white-haired girl gradually emerged. However, the little peacock did not fulfill the ritual and become a member of the arbitration. She wanted to keep the last item that belonged to her lover, so she made it into a headdress and kept it with her forever.

She became extraordinary, a 'painter,' using paper and pen, using colors to depict the bits and pieces of the past, depicting the long companionship of dawn and dusk, with the main characters being only the red glow and the silver moon leaning against each other.

With a tone that was both distant and polite, the blonde beauty also extended her hand at the opportune moment.

"Charlotte Earshaw, nice to meet you too."

Their fingertips touched briefly, then finally recognized each other, yet it felt as if they had met before—

Strangers.

Chapter Ninety-Five: Invitation and Joining the Goddess

Last night has passed.

The past is past, like smoke in the wind, easily dispersed, just like the passing of a white-haired girl. People have always been fond of witnessing the destruction of beautiful things, yet they always easily forget things that were once at their peak.

Only busy reporters scurried back and forth through the streets and alleys, just to make sure they didn't miss any trendy topics such as the civil rights movement, anti-war marches, and the New Left, and they also didn't intend to miss any good opportunity to make government officials or social celebrities look foolish or embarrassed.

Naturally, they didn't miss the collapse of that edifice. Located in the birthplace of the Bathory family, they felt compelled to offer their timely blessings for the family's decline, just as they had back then.

As dawn broke and the warmth of spring was not yet enough to dispel the lingering chill of winter, people passing by all wrapped themselves tightly in their coats, exhaling puffs of white mist.

The next day, there was no wind or rain, and it was mostly cloudy.

Without taking a carriage, the blonde beauty strolled quietly through the throng of people, her slender high heels clicking on the cobblestone street with a resounding clang.

Perhaps it is the tempering of life's experiences that gives rise to an aloofness that keeps strangers at bay, which emanates from her furrowed brows and radiates without a trace in her eyes, much like the Druids in Hadington culture who were close to nature and despised industry.

After a night of dances and revelry, she returned to Tingen's social scene, where she received a confession from Mélisande and reconnected with the little peacock.

This is the background.

She opened her hand and saw the exquisite jade bracelet barely touching her fingertips. She watched as her slender fingers, wrapped in white silk, moved up and down. It was the sealed artifact 3-071 and an extraordinary object that could pass through doors and walls, the detective's 'relics'.

The remaining four hundred and fifty pounds were divided in two, providing her with different paths of development.

Watson, on his way to the land of the Goldfinch, was still adrift on the high seas, listening to the symphony of gales and torrential rain, enduring the agony of being tossed about. Even with the propulsion of steam, they could not overcome the fury of the abyss; at times, enormous whales would sweep past the ship's side, and at other times, ancient cries would echo in their ears.

Waves and disease have always been the melody of long journeys. Crowded spaces and excessive dampness always breed the hoarse sounds of illness. But the white-haired girl simply raised her arm and leaned against the ship's railing, bathing in the sea breeze, watching the shadowy figures lingering below, and gazing at the birds in the distant harbor.

Driven by her spiritual perception, she could hear the mournful, drawn-out roar of the giant creature beneath the sea, and she could smell the salty, fishy stench of overflowing blood—the struggle of a poor wanderer who had lost his home and was wounded and forced to leave.

"Madam, esteemed lady, would you like to purchase a daily newspaper?"

The innocent voice of a child brought Charlotte back to her senses. The freckled boy, wearing a newsboy cap and holding a stack of oil paper, had his head bowed deeply and asked humbly and hopefully for her permission.

Through the exposed neck, you could even see the inside of the collar, stained black by dirt accumulated on the skin.

"..."

There was no response. Charlotte simply tossed down the coins and silently picked up the crumpled newspaper that was on the outside.

She is no longer the kind-hearted Miss Watson, nor does she need to bend down and give alms.

Simply lowering her gaze and scanning the words on the front page, after removing the repeated mentions of Cliff's death, the beautiful woman caught sight of the opening paragraph as expected.

[The tragedy that occurred two months ago on the west coast, resulting in the deaths of countless sailors—the "whirlpool incident" in the Fog Sea—was caused by a giant sea monster resembling a scaled dragon. Its trail was finally discovered by the Glory Fleet of Hastings, who, last night, roared cannons and drove it away from the coastal waters to the open ocean.]

[According to the ship's officers, this giant sea monster had four fins, a serpentine body, and sharp fangs. It was very likely the infamous monster from the Mali Trench, now badly wounded and nearing its end.]

Extraordinary creatures?

If Watson's guess is correct, the dark figure he saw should be the sea monster that was injured and left, as described in the newspaper.

This was probably a coincidence. Judging from the scaly dragon's miserable state, it probably didn't have the strength to destroy another ferry and would most likely die somewhere on the seabed, gradually decomposing as carrion-eating fish and shrimp.

No longer paying attention to this information, Charlotte pointed to the folded newspaper, which she had trimmed into paper airplanes. These were the toys she used to play with when she was a child, to pass the time when she was bored, and to occasionally compete with others. As long as she threw them lightly, they would take off with the wind and land in someone else's house.

Looking up at the end of the street, a group of believers dressed in robes were bowing and distributing food to the suffering people, offering sincere comfort.

As can be seen, in Tingen, the Church of the Primordial Goddess is the faith of the vast majority of ordinary people. The reason is simple: these believers distribute free things to the poor every day, and they can receive a few soles of relief money if they go to pray on the day of rest.

In addition, the workers' right to leave work promptly at six o'clock every day and go home to rest was something the church fought for after the detective girl filed a suicide pact.

In that sense, they were indebted to Watson for his kindness.

Charlotte spotted a familiar figure among the crowd and smiled slightly, finding a suitable reason to join the church where the true god resided.

A group of children chasing and playing ran past her, bringing a gentle breeze. She then loosened her grip on two fingers, pursed her lips slightly, and softly said:

"Hey~"

As promised, the paper airplane took off, tracing an arc, making a few turns, and gracefully flying over everyone's heads, past the church bells, and landing right next to a beautiful woman's legs.

A simple gauze dress, short silver hair, and compassionate eyes.

That was once the sword of the goddess, Sylva.

The distribution of relief food was temporarily suspended. Silva picked up the paper airplane that had appeared out of nowhere and looked back against the wind toward where it had come from.

No one came; I could only glimpse the words left by the former on the paper, blown open by the wind—Crumbs amp: Whiskers, in this brand-new café, I sincerely hope for your arrival.

Frowning slightly, this childlike playfulness reminded her of the deceased detective girl. But, in this era, those who are devoted to others are destined to meet a bad end, just like Watson, just like herself.

She should have ignored the invitation, but for no apparent reason, Silva moved and followed the directions to the black and white shop that was located in the center and officially opened today.

Pushing open the clear, transparent glass door, accompanied by the melodious tinkling of wind chimes, long-haired dolls, short-haired Yaning, and white-gloved pirates all rush in. These are the spirits that should be roaming the wild forests, the affectionate greetings of the little animals, and Charlotte's meticulous design.

"Meow~"

The pet kittens strolled to her feet, then escorted the white-haired beauty to the front desk and to the service staff.

The manager, dressed in a black vest and white shirt, bent down and respectfully asked if he would be willing to share a seat with other customers, given that the bustling shop had very few seats available.

Silently nodding, she walked through the crisscrossing passageways. In the garden surrounded by greenery, Silva saw a magnificent and dignified golden shaggy cat, perched on a branch, its raven eyelashes fluttering lazily.

A gentle voice flowed past my ears, and azure eyes lowered their gaze, exuding an elegant aura adorned with poetic prose.

"Madam, could you please return it to me as soon as possible? It just so happened to land in your arms."

Her fair legs were completely naked, smooth and clean, and crossed over each other like the pure moonlight.

"...You are Charlotte Earl."

Chapter Ninety-Six: Deliberate Action

"It is a great honor to meet you at this opportune time of the Spring Equinox."

No longer perched high, the blonde beauty gracefully leaped down from the verdant branches with one hand, like a leaf falling in the wind, or a dancing flower.

Just then, a gust of wind blew, causing the paper airplane to slip from her fingers and return to her ingenious hand. Without answering her question, Charlotte simply unfolded it back into a crumpled newspaper and pointed to the most eye-catching section.

[The injustice has been redressed, the wicked knight has been overthrown, and the former victim is finally freed. Alas, the dead are gone; will this unique flower of O'Shaughnessy be able to take root in Tingen with its difficult journey?]

"As these journalists wrote, the departure of my father and mother saddened me, and my current loneliness makes me feel even more helpless. It was like a sudden disaster, the accusation came abruptly, and the rescue was just as unexpected. In a daze, I can no longer find any familiarity in this land, and I only feel that the constant loss has become the only thing."

Looking up at those bright silver hairs, Charlotte's eyelashes trembled slightly as she listened to the words above, revealing a timely sadness, like an ignorant person yearning for an explanation from the person before her.

Indeed, the jet-black butterfly comes from another world, without roots or duckweed. Every flap of its wings stirs up a new storm, thus revealing its true feelings.

she says:

"The clamor recedes like the tide, and I stand for a long time before tomorrow, only to find nothing but emptiness before my eyes."

"So, ma'am, I want to know the truth."

The benefit of taking the initiative to invite someone and having a well-thought-out strategy lies in this: even when talking to a powerful and mysterious woman, the conversation can proceed along an incredibly clear path.

"..."

Silently, Silva also gazed at the beauty before him. The years of eighteen had sculpted her into an exquisite work of art, but compared to her former naivety and arrogance, her current sorrow and melancholy seemed to have added to her true nature.

Like the poignant beauty of sunshine after rain, it is even more stunning and moving. Changes in circumstances can indeed alter a person's temperament and character, which is reasonable, but—

Why would you think of asking me or the church for information?

With a cold brow, Silva was not moved by this melancholy demeanor. She always pursued a professional approach, only making a small exception when it came to the balance between law and reason.

If she asked knowingly, it would be either intentional or due to being misled by others, both of which require careful consideration. However, the answer was beyond her expectations.

"Because I once heard the whispers of others when I was lost and in despair, bound by suffering, bowing down to disaster, driven to self-destruction, and a mother who would not abandon them, just as she would her own children... That was the patriarch's prayer, and now I have nothing left but the faith in my heart that sustains my will to live."

"If there were a goddess above, could she give me the warmth of a mother embracing her baby?"

Charlotte curled her lips into a faint smile, but the smile was poignant and hesitant, like a lone cloud adrift with nowhere to go.

The sorrow was so real that even the goddess's swordsman could not discern it. The goddess's past decrees only instructed her to help the girl with an empty identity when necessary, and the person before her was, to Sylva, just a stranger suffering from hardship.

Controlled by fate, robbed of her happiness by the powerful, what can Charlotte Brontë rely on now? Survive on the flames of hatred? With Bathory's edifice collapsed, there is no source of hatred left, and kinship and friendship are meaningless. Therefore, faith becomes her only remaining reliance.

Her solemn expression softened slightly, and Silva sighed softly, seemingly sharing the same sentiment.

“I cannot offer you the warmth of a goddess, but if, as a victim, you remain unaware of the truth of your injustice, then it is a failure and inadequacy of the law.”

"Cliff Bathory, driven by greed, disregarded the hardships of the people's lives and sought to control all of Tingen's industries and wealth. Your parents were wronged and framed by him."

......

"that is it?"

With her azure eyes wide open and her delicate eyelashes drooping, Charlotte questioned him almost in a hushed voice, as if she had heard something unbelievable.

They question injustice and the principles of justice; it's both laughable and pathetic.

Unable to offer comfort as an outsider, Silva also couldn't bear to say anything affirmative, lest it deepen the former's sorrow.

She turned her face away, secretly gripping the hilt of the sword she carried, unwilling to face the suffering victims.

There are many injustices in the world, and the law is no match for power, but eventually a sharp sword will cut them down, though it may be too late.

"Then all I can do is wait, like those who were imprisoned for months, waiting for their conscience to awaken and bestow grace?"