Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

Before the words were finished, a figure was not far away. The chestnut-haired girl seemed to have found something and immediately got up and chased after her.

"Wait, ma'am!"

Chapter 104 The Second Puppet

The biting cold wind cut at the girl's skin, and the crowds of people returning home came into view one after another, but the little sparrow paid no attention to them, pushing through the crowd and chasing after them straight ahead.

Memories and hope are the most beautiful seasonings in the world.

The more you try to hold onto a memory, the more it slips away cunningly; like a wisp of water floating in the deepest part of your mind, appearing and disappearing, you struggle to scoop it up and grasp it.

Hope gradually fades away, she prays in solitude, gazes into the distance from the broken pieces, and dreams of reunion. Perhaps it's just a temporary illusion, but Winnie is unwilling to give up, even if it's utterly absurd, even if the faces are completely different.

She saw that, in an instant, the subconscious expression that appeared, the indifference of turning away, gradually overlapped with the figure of the silver-haired girl from the past.

Is it Watson?

As Winnie squeezed through the crowd, searching for the former figure, she was so distracted that she accidentally bumped into someone's back.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm here—"

Halfway through her apology, a calm female voice cut through the commotion, revealing her pretty face.

"You're looking for me, aren't you?"

Charlotte raised an eyebrow as she grasped the little sparrow's slender wrist. The girl wandered through the crowd like a headless fly, unaware that she had bumped into the person she was looking for.

This is kind of adorably silly.

However, her foolish behavior had its own reasons. After savoring the delicious taste that had gone through so much pain, she forgot to hide her expression, thus revealing her true nature for a moment, which was captured by the ever-keen little bird.

It's a bit dangerous, but it's nothing serious.

He lifted her hand, forcing Winnie to rise up, forcing her to stand on tiptoe, raise her head, and look at him with considerable difficulty.

Unlike Watson's frail physique, Charlotte was an absolute beauty, a stunning flower that could outshine all others on stage. Her figure and temperament were perfectly proportioned, possessing the national beauty that Aphrodite adored and the slender figure sculpted by Hephaestus.

Tall and wealthy.

The dominance of her posture allowed her to easily regain control, which was then expressed through her lips.

"Is there anything else? That Sachertorte was a gesture of goodwill; I ordered it for you free of charge, so you don't need to pay it back."

Her calm and composed voice, like ripples on a lake, gradually soothed his anxious heart. Her cool and elegant demeanor made the words he wanted to ask stuck in his throat, leaving him frustrated and unable to express them.

"I......"

Gazing into those emerald eyes, Winnie couldn't help but feel a sense of fear.

Yes, what can a fleeting resemblance prove? Watson is a bird of unrestrained joy, while the beauty before him is a peony blooming in melancholy; the difference between them is like heaven and earth.

Ultimately, it was just a pipe dream. Was it because I missed the deceased so much that I saw the figure of a young girl in everyone I met?

"Saying thank you once is enough. Since we've met by chance, I know your name, but you know nothing about me. That's a bit unfair."

She slightly raised her snowy neck, using humble words but with a hint of arrogance, and calmly stated to herself.

“I am Charlotte Earshaw, 13 Doyle Street, in the central district. If you wish to learn more about Watson, or simply confide your troubles, you are welcome to visit and share your feelings.”

Without hesitation, Charlotte released her grip, letting the girl, who had lost her balance due to the sudden pull, stumble a few steps and nearly fell. Charlotte then turned and merged into the crowd, disappearing into the clamor.

Heartless abandonment.

Ta, tap.

The flat heels landed on the pavement, producing a clear, sharp sound.

Winnie stood there for a moment, her earlier eagerness vanishing as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head.

She hugged her waist tightly, closed her eyes in pain, and took several deep breaths to steady her swaying body.

When people are in pain, they may choose to close their eyes and ignore certain things, and this is exactly what happened to the girl.

The world is shrouded in darkness. Once, there was a faint fragrance lingering in the air, and the warmth brought by those around me. Now, that small hope has been ruthlessly extinguished once again.

Charlotte Earl.

Silently memorize this name, even if it's bluntly denied, the similarity has already become a seed, deeply rooted in the heart, sprouting and one day growing strong, blossoming and bearing fruit.

She will not give up, even if she ultimately receives a negative answer.

......

As her footsteps faded into the distance, perhaps from the birds that had kept her close, Charlotte exuded an air of aloofness, much like the Druids of Celtic culture who were close to nature and abhorred change.

Her hands were no longer empty; instead, they held a handful of fragrant mistletoe, which grew luxuriantly, with many branches already sprouting new buds.

Perhaps because of the little parrot, or perhaps it was her temperament, Charlotte had a tolerant heart towards these plants, tolerating that while they adorned her beautiful appearance, they also disturbed the folds of her clothes, making grooming a little more effort.

An unfamiliar doorman, an unfamiliar servant.

Pushing open the door, she returned to her current residence, a detached villa in the city center, a garden devoid of human warmth.

“You’re back, Miss Earl.”

The temporary servants had been waiting for a long time. They presented Charlotte with a clean white cloth, knelt down and used small brushes to wipe the mud off her heels, and followed behind her, waiting for any orders she might need.

Charlotte didn't need them; no matter how eagerly they pleaded, they couldn't touch her heartstrings.

She dismissed the servants who accompanied her, and quietly lay down on the leather sofa, watching the raindrops outside the window and listening to the rustling of the spring breeze.

He took a whole branch from the mistletoe bush he was holding, with a few scattered orange-red flowers blooming on it, which were out of season and looked very similar to Miss Earl Shaw’s darker hair color.

Her slender fingers traced the stem, lingering at its undulations. She gently lowered her scissors, carefully shaping it into a smooth cluster of flowers—a leisurely gesture.

The long, fishtail skirt couldn't completely conceal her fair, long legs. As it draped lazily over the side of the sofa, the soft, shimmering silk revealed half of her ample bosom, adorning the slightly curved collarbone—slender yet alluring.

Tick.

In a moment of distraction, the scalpel sliced ​​across his fingertip, drawing out crimson blood that trickled down in a stream, splashed on the ground, and then dispersed.

The golden light from outside the window shone down at just the right moment, revealing a translucent blue hue in the blood.

Blue blood, a solvent for potions, is also the main ingredient for making puppets; it is precious and beautiful.

The prepared test tubes collected all the overflowing blood. Then, Charlotte took out the extraordinary characteristics of the Sequence Eight 'Monster', letting the smooth mass sway in her palm, emitting mad babbling.

Having gone through much, she had learned about the ascension ceremony through gatherings of extraordinary individuals.

Becoming a monster, making self-suggestions, and then having others witness it, pass it on orally and in writing, creates a well-known ghost story.

Mystery, or fear, is of paramount importance in determining the direction of development.

As mentioned earlier, she had figured out how to achieve it, but it wouldn't work on the original body. What's missing now is—

A suitable physical body.

Chapter 105 A Fateful Choice and a Traitor

The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the fog was thinning.

The train rumbled past, and the rising sun cast its soft light through the curtains into the room, gradually warming the bed and eventually settling on the blonde woman's face.

With your eyes closed, the world is pitch black, but when the sunlight touches your face, the silent black seems to be veiled in a light-colored gauze, becoming hazy.

"call......"

Charlotte exhaled a soft breath and opened her eyes.

The chill of early spring lingers, and the comfort and softness of the quilt make one reluctant to leave. But will she become lost in thought and feel reluctant to part with it?

Will do.

She casually made up an excuse for her laziness, snuggled in the warmth of her blankets, and listened to the gentle sea breeze turning into coolness, lashing against the tender buds of the neighboring flowers.

Spring flowers stirred slightly, and so did I. I raised my snowy neck and struggled to get up from the soft pillow. She slowly rose against the downy mattress, leaned against the headboard, and quietly dispelled the drowsiness that had weighed down her eyes.

This doesn't match outward elegance, but people always choose to compromise between patience and compliance.

No longer dependent on Watson's perfect body, she felt tired, shivered from the cold, and ached from walking. She was delicate and fragile, and felt alone and helpless because she had lost the comforting chirping of the birds.

That's rather ridiculous. The detective is nothing but Charlotte's pipe dream, a silly game she plays for her own amusement. When would she ever become so lost in loneliness that she's as fragile as a rabbit?

Not appropriate.

She scooped up a handful of cold water and let the frigid liquid chill her skin, bringing back her clear mind.

After washing up, getting dressed, and combing her hair, Charlotte gently pushed open the door and quietly left the still somewhat unfamiliar bedroom.

"Miss Earl Shaw, breakfast has been prepared in the front hall as you requested."

"Thanks for your hard work."

She nodded slightly to the maid who had been waiting for her, uttered a soft thank you, and then walked past her to sit down on the clean wooden chair.

Looking around, I see a few cookies, a croissant, and a glass of grapefruit juice. This is my breakfast for today. It's not lavish, but it's classic and sweet enough to satisfy my cravings.

Wiping the crumbs from her mouth, just as Zelena had instructed, after finishing a host of trivial matters, she should fulfill her duties to the church as a member of the arbitration tribunal.

The work was tedious and demanding, but the gold coins flowing through her fingers and the pleasing and comforting people always dispelled her impatience and allowed her to calm down. More importantly, there was the protection of the official forces and the possibility of touching more sequences.

With the oak bell fastened around her neck, Charlotte stepped out of the door the maid had been holding for her and into the street bathed in morning light.

The distant clock tower chimed, announcing the arrival of seven o'clock.

"The timing is just right. If it's any later or if we're too lazy, we won't be able to see the early spring sun slowly rising from the coast."

The sea and sky met at the horizon, and the afterglow of the sun fell on her face, giving her a radiant look, like a natural veil.

She could sense that as she walked closer, men and women passing by occasionally glanced at her, focusing on her pretty face and admiring her elegant demeanor.

This is undeniable. Putting aside her so-called inner beauty, her appearance alone is enough to make others fall head over heels for her.

Her gentle eyes, like ripples on a lake, shone with the grace of nature. Her long, slender eyelashes trembled slightly, like the Messiah gazing tenderly upon her believers.

Charlotte didn't linger long in this quiet and elegant central area, as this wasn't Charlotte's usual morning destination.

As I walked through the wide street, the familiar sea breeze from my memory once again ruffled my hair, carrying with it the clamor of voices and the salty, fishy smell.

A sheltered corner in the port area.

Workers hurrying by, homeless people sitting or lying nearby, sweat and saliva splattering everywhere in this dirtiest and most degrading place.

That was where the detective once reveled at dusk, where she held the little peacock's hand and left behind fragments of memories on the drawing paper.

However, now that the silvery-white flower has withered, it will soon return to its former appearance.

They remained poor and impoverished, their conflicts and arguments laid bare in the most direct way. The only difference was that they remembered the girl's name, and they benefited from the girl's sacrifice.

Unqualified.

The performance was given a bad review. Watson's death was as heavy as Mount Tai, yet as light as a feather. Her original intention was not fulfilled, and the desired result was turned into an insignificant grain of sand in the torrent of time.

The flag has fallen, and the resolve is gone.

Pulling her hat brim low to cover her fair skin, she knew that this neighborhood had many unemployed poor people doing temporary work and hungry children being driven around. Although she wasn't afraid of the thieves' actions, she always felt unhappy when trouble came her way.

As Charlotte walked away into the distance, just as she was about to turn and leave, a bright red glow appeared before her eyes.

Even though she was dressed simply and looked unwell, she could still recognize that it was the little peacock that had once perched on her branch.

Without approaching or uttering a sound, she simply watched as the red-haired girl took out her easel, ignoring the gazes of others, and, accompanied only by the morning light, began to paint pairs of figures with her brush.

A silvery moonlit lake, a crystal-clear blood amber, symbolizes Watson and Sophie's companionship as they journey from dusk into the night.

Her little peacock still remembered her, remembered her clearly, and could never forget her. So much so that several days later, it would still come to the place where the memory was and do the things they had done together in the past.

For some reason, Charlotte felt a pang of heartache and a touch of jealousy. She felt sorry for Sophomore's haggard face and jealous of Watson being surrounded by birds.

A complex mix of emotions swirled in her thoughts. She pursed her lips, hardened her heart, and bid farewell to the alleyway.

The peacock, seemingly sensing something amiss, raised her head and looked in the direction the beautiful woman had gone, but had no intention of chasing after her, for she was nothing more than a stranger on the road.

The wandering accordionist plays a piece, the melody sometimes melodious, sometimes passionate, just like the fluctuating heartstrings.

"Madam, would you like a fortune telling?"

It was the voice of the person trying to persuade the guest to leave.

Following the sound, a low tent appeared, where a woman in a white dress with an open neckline was gazing at Charlotte, as if she had recognized her.

Her hair was tousled, and her posture was slightly tilted, yet she exuded an indescribable confidence.