[Western Fantasy] The black-skinned elf also wants to hug the rich woman’s lap today

The layers of dark curtains were lifted, and she opened her eyes.

As expected, there was another layer of darkness before him, like a stubborn wall that was about to reach the tip of his nose.

A moment of exhaustion. This fatigue begins with heavy, sore eyelids and visual fatigue. Psychological exhaustion. But in the end it was as peaceful as the seabed beneath the turbulent waves.

She has a kind of "destined" self-loathing, and she is destined to be the only and loyal audience of this colorless drama.

"What's wrong, Sylvia" was the voice of the group leader Ivan. The blade of the knife stopped making a rustling sound on the iron plate, and he asked her politely.

She shook her head, indicating that she was fine.

The surrounding area was as noisy as if she were in a market. She could smell the burning aroma, which was the omelette sold in the hotel in the morning. It was noisy and emitting hot smoke. She doesn't hate it. She especially likes the crispy caramel flavor and the runny egg liquid. It's a pity that the new guys often fail to master the heat. In her hand was a wooden spoon of the type used in the hotel downstairs.

It seems that I accidentally fell asleep. she thinks.

She fumbled with a wooden spoon to explore the center of the omelette, trying to feel the flowing egg liquid by squeezing downwards with the bottom of the spoon. She likes and only likes runny egg yolk, which she only discovered recently. But she didn't want to show it. Waste is shameful.

Unfortunately, the result was not what she expected. The bottom of the spoon felt hard, which was not what she wanted.

Pursing her lips unconsciously, she tapped her fingers on the table and prepared to push the plate towards the other end of the table. She knew of course that the elf was sitting there, and she just wanted to make a "little deal" with him. . For example, help her deal with this disgusting plate of eggs.

How would he respond? He would hum, then pretend to be disgusted but actually accept it with satisfaction.

Is such that. That must be the case. She could feel the corners of her mouth curling up confidently.

But before there was any movement on the other side, Sylvia sensitively felt the change in the touch in her hand.

The wooden texture that was originally close to the skin became cold and hard, and the wooden spoon in his hand turned into metal and stretched a little. The surrounding hustle and bustle suddenly disappeared at a certain moment. She heard the swing of the clock behind her, and in this space, the "tick" sound was lengthened.

As if she was used to it, she was not surprised by this. She collected her thoughts, retracted her previous actions, and continued her meal calmly. The woman sitting opposite was complaining to the man next to her about the education and style of boys, causing the man to wave his hands in disgust, as if asking for help from an ugly fly. But this further deepens the woman's entanglement.

"Never mind it, Joanna." The man couldn't bear it anymore and said to his wife in a rough voice, "We already have too much wealth to use up! It's just a few dead people, can't we solve it?"

"Or," the man made a gesture with his hands. Sylvia lowered her head and ate in silence, guessing that the man must have pointed his finger at her, "There is a benevolent, kind, church behind us! Shouldn't we enjoy this hard-won 'lucky' that fell from the sky?" .”

The boy sat next to his father and forked a piece of roasted stag leg. Not afraid of his mother's warning, he hugged his father's neck with a playful smile and said, "Praise mother for her belly! It gives us a 'meat box'."

stab-

Her fork made a sharp squeak on the white porcelain plate.

All the voices from the opposite side disappeared at this moment, like a drama that was forced to come to a halt. The black wall that followed her took a step closer to her. She lowered her eyes and could hardly breathe.

A familiar female voice whispered in her ear, as close as close to the back of her neck, "Look..."

"Your efforts are fruitless."

The bread was broken, "your body was given for them..."

The wine was sloshing, "Your blood was shed for them..."

"What did your self-righteous salvation breed?"

"What are you insisting on?"

"Why not..." The female voice hissed, seducing her, tightening her, biting her in the mist behind her, and suddenly screamed loudly:

"Crush these pests to death!!!"

……

Sylvia's mood did not fluctuate, or so it seemed, as she forked off the cherry tomatoes from a dinner plate with an expressionless expression. The red fruit is squeezed by the sharp spines and squirts out thick juice. Her face felt cold and she closed her eyes unconsciously.

The family members on the other side of the table were gone. The fork is missing. The dinner plates were also missing. The clock stopped swinging more than once.

The metal in her hand was close to body temperature, and her blood went cold with it.

Only my wrist hurts. The pain of the thread being twisted.

She shook her hands, opened them, and closed them. The wet juice was between her fingers, sticky and fishy. The tactile sensation brought by the nerves to the skin finally returned.

Wild and original tableware, living hands.

She licked it unconsciously. Ah, the "juice" is hot.

One wrist hurts. Hot, burning pain.

The girl's sharp screams and cries suddenly sounded from behind, breaking the silence unexpectedly, "Father! Father Leo!"

The sound of clattering footsteps, "What's the matter, little Teresa?"

The girl sobbed and used a sharp voice to get rid of the fear in her heart, "Sylvia! That monster! She took little Benny..."

ah. ah. Little Benny. She remembers. The small, soft, short-haired rabbit she had raised as a child.

At this moment, it was lying peacefully and silently between her hands, its long ears drooped, motionless. It's not a good symbol, it just sits there like the leftovers of a plate that's already been enjoyed.

In contrast, her heartbeat was very steady, and she found a rare satisfaction.

She is just curious.

Her curiosity went unanswered.

Her curiosity, which should have been answered in another way, went unanswered.

【Why is my heart beating】

【Why is my body not taking root】

【Why can't I answer these questions】

why why why

She was like a broken machine. Countless questions were asked continuously, but none of them could be answered. These garbage-like problems piled up, rotting, stinking, and the undead and living corpses roared in their minds day and night.

She's just trying to understand these things, in her own way. Although this... caused some trouble.

"Sylvia." Obviously, the priest held her hand.

The priest's hands were also cold. she thinks. This is a pair of typical sculptor's hands. The front of the palm is covered with calluses and the texture is rough, but the palm is smooth. The cold skin looks like some kind of flakes. These are hands that produce masterpieces.

Are you afraid of me too?

"Sylvia." She could feel the priest's breath spraying on her forehead. He didn't ask her why she did it, and he didn't criticize her harshly for it. His tone was more of a statement than a condemnation, "Promise me you won't kill like this."

"So" means that she didn't want to kill anyone, nor did she want to hurt anything. She was just too curious, and those crazy ghosts lingering in her mind needed an outlet. Maybe it's an answer, maybe it's a "rule."

There was a dull pain in her eyes, maybe it wasn't her eyes but something deeper in her brain, she didn't know. She only felt that something was about to sprout, like the soft touch of a snail, like a young sprout, an itch grew deep in the depths, and something was peeking out through her brain.

Look, look. She knows, she must know, that her fingers only need to tremble slightly, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, and those invisible threads can obey her command. Even such incredible scars can be repaired easily. That is different from Tinkering with Benny, who was on the verge of death, was like tinkering with a toy.

but……

She pursed her lips unconsciously. She can't. Because she is not whole. The answers are so close yet so far away, they're all hidden.

"You can no longer do whatever you want, Sylvia." The priest just declared bluntly, "Life is so sparse and ordinary in your eyes. That you have no respect for death, let alone awe."

Yes. The only moral values ​​she had been taught told her that all of this was wrong, abnormal, immoral, and anti-human. She should be like a human being. She should be a human being, someone not feared and hated by others, a fellow creature of the weak and ignorant species.

According to the teachings, she should neither deprive nor take from others. Giving, this is all she can do. This is everything they taught her since childhood.

If according to the teachings. She was noncommittal about it.

There was another voice in her head, criticizing her domesticated thoughts and mocking her for obeying weak morality. She was noncommittal about it.

and so……

"I understand." She said. As if submissive.

"I won't kill anyone," she repeated in a low voice. Threads wrapped around her wrists like slithering poisonous snakes. This is her promise, her oath, the rule she voluntarily bears, "I will endure...I will suppress my desires, control my thirst, devote myself wholeheartedly...I voluntarily become a 'non-killer'." "

She ignored the knife-like pain in her wrist and stretched out her hand, as if praying, as if begging for forgiveness, "The light I have never seen before..."

Are you as dazzling as I imagined?

The next moment, her wrist was grabbed.

"Hey." O'Brien frowned and grabbed Sylvia's wrist that was causing trouble on him, "Can you move so restlessly while you're asleep?"

The priest who was resting on half of his thigh didn't make any unnecessary movement. He closed his eyes and remained silent. O'Brien almost thought that the poor wounded man was still awake.

But the lying, sleeping priest still grabbed his collar reluctantly, crumpling the not-so-cheap fabric into a ball, and then suddenly said, "Elf..."

"Will you help me get rid of the cooked egg yolk?"

what