The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 89 Ch.88 Kate and Marissa VI
Some mist seeps through the old pictures.

The fragments become more and more jumpy.

Roland watched quietly.

From the ingenious little mechanism in the dancing shoes - the nails that only pop out after being stepped on heavily, to the blood-stained stage, to the screams and fear, to the rumors and malice.

These images jump rapidly with Kate Pasetti's thoughts, lighter and faster than her footsteps on the stage, overlapping layer by layer.

She led him deeper into the darker backstage, to the cream-covered cakes, the fallen dancing shoes and silk stockings.

Playful toes and hairy hands.

Kate Pasetti laughed softly as she ran away.

In the warm room, she stepped on the soft blanket, around the shore table and the burning candles.

She was about to be caught.

He chuckled, took off his shoulder coat slowly, but tightened his cuffs and collar, and fled like a deer in the woods, turning his head and teasing the hunter chasing him with his eyes.

"Come on, Philip!"

Philip Chandler unbuttoned his collar.

She listened to his rapid breathing with pleasure, and saw him rushing at her like a hound rather than a hunter, and saw him in dishevelled clothes and speaking nonsense - those crude words that even the lower class could not say, but at this moment they were like the thick and sticky honey on the cake, flowing between the prey and the hound.

She liked his gaze chasing her, and was happy to pretend to be frightened, and then be caught by him before she could avoid him.

She twisted around, from curling up, to stretching, to hugging.

She saw the flags of attack from his sight and heard the trumpets.

She floated on the waves.

Not long after, he seemed to see his mother again.

Her life gradually came to a halt.

Her emotions became sacred.

No breathing.

Her quietly dilated pupils only vaguely noticed the uneven candle flames in the room. They burned into balls, and the red halos were like fireballs that were not blazing, making her whole body warm.

She could smell everything now, just like Miss Peyton.

The man's sweat dripped onto his face and forehead, smelling of ink;
His armpits smelled of an overly rotten but strangely charming rotten onion;
He also had many complex smells on him that made the children in the gutter curious. The oppression that once weighed heavily was now the weight on the other side of the scale, lifting Kate Pasetti high:
From now on, she can sit in that chair too.

She had eyes in her chin to look at some people.

Real eyes are used to see other people.

She is different.

This is obviously much easier than climbing to the peak of any skill.

"You are so beautiful."

Jazz played with her sweaty hair, the hair that hung on her face and forehead.

She smiled sweetly in return.

"You are as brave as a knight."

She spoke to him in a soft voice and did not separate until their bodies grew colder and the room warmed up.

"I don't want a woman to appear on stage all the time. Look at what you are all wearing." The sturdy man climbed down from the bed, hooked the torn costume with his toes and kicked it away, his words mixed with dissatisfaction and disgust.

"I see you like it very much." Kate Pasetti leaned on the bed with her head supported by her arms, looking at his back.

She had grown taller, more mature, more charming, and her words were sharp: "Are you annoying me again now?"

"It's different now than it was before."

Philip Chandler rubbed his hands together, and several gem rings sparkled in the candlelight. "I won't find a woman who will embarrass me everywhere."

He turned his head to look at the woman on the bed. After that burst of passionate and intimate emotions and drum beats, he turned back into the rational and shrewd jazz.

His eyes were squeezed very small by his drooping eyelids, and were as dim as candlelight.

"You have to make a choice, Kate."

select.

Another choice.

This was the second important choice in Kate Pasetti's life.

Unlike the first time when she was hysterical for countless nights, this time she was familiar with the process.

At ten o'clock in the middle of the night, after everyone around me has fallen asleep.

The woman came downstairs barefoot, carefully holding a candlestick, and waited at the door.

Until there was a knock on the door, almost drowned out by the sound of the wind.

She opened the door, welcoming the visitor and the whistling wind in - but she did not accept the long, broad hand again.

She had her arms behind her back and her head held high, looking elegant and proud.

The white mask was exactly the same as when he first saw it, spotless. "We have to finish... sir."

The hazy shadow swayed in the semi-dark living room. It tilted its head, made a "clicking" sound, and was very confused.

The woman took a half step forward.

It moves backwards.

"That's it, understand?"

It tried to grab Pasetti's hand, and as if its waist was broken, it snaked its way behind her - but the woman pushed it back a few steps.

"Don't come over here again! I don't need your help - no! I don't remember any agreement, and I never made any agreement with you!"

Pasetti turned his head towards the stairs sensitively and continued to lower his voice: "From today on, don't come to see me again... Understand?"

"I'm going to be the master's woman..."

Shadow said he didn't understand and said something with gestures.

"…That's not an agreement. It's just something I said casually, no one would take it seriously. I warn you, don't come to me again!"

Shadow was pushed back toward the door.

Pasetti opened the door.

The icy wind blew away the warm air.

The dark shadow became more and more anxious, and the movements of his hands and feet became more and more exaggerated:
"Promise!"

it says.

'Art!'

it says.

'peak!'

it says.

'desire!'

it says.

However, Pasetti just pushed it out again and again - after pushing it out completely, he locked the door tightly.

"…Feel sorry."

She leaned against the door, her lips dry, and she murmured listlessly: "...I regret it."

knock --

knocking.

knock knock --

As the knocks on the door continued, Pasetti's expression became more and more frightened.

She couldn't, she must not lose this happy destiny that was within her reach...

The gloomy woman picked up the burnt candlestick and went upstairs barefoot.

The cold body crawled into the goose down quilt.

His half-asleep hound, Mr. Philip, turned over and began to mutter in a dreamy voice: "I...thought I heard something, dear..."

Pasetti propped up his upper body, hugged the hound's head in his arms, stared indifferently at the painting of a woman on the wall, and said in a gentle voice: "Nothing, my knight. Go to sleep, go to sleep..."

She coaxed for a while.

Listening more carefully, the knocking sound seemed to have disappeared.

but…

This doesn't solve the problem.

She had to find a way.

Find a way to completely get rid of this hand that will only drag her back into that purgatory-like world - even though this hand once pulled her out of the quagmire.

She is noble, wealthy, and admired.

People like her must not have anything to do with monsters.

She quietly pondered her future.

The pendulum swung again and again.

suddenly.

In the darkness, the pair of indifferent eyes moved rapidly——

She turned her head suddenly.

He met Roland's eyes.

The picture is cracked inch by inch.

(End of this chapter)