Can the sadness that magic cannot take away be offset by love?

Back in the hotel, Aecilia rubbed her brows, put everything away, and looked at the time on Zhiwang:

【5:46 pm】

She washed her hands, put on her slippers, then lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Snow-white wall paint, hanging lamps, curtains blown by the wind, sunlight creeping into the room...

It was very quiet, everything was silent, as quiet as if the world had died.

She gradually slowed down her breathing and just stared at the ceiling without blinking.

Then, he clenched his hands.

There was a sharp pain in her mind, and the surging and violent pain stimulated her to hold her head violently, and her cheek was pressed deeply into the pillow.

She began to pant violently, and soon she was out of breath. Her scalp felt as if it was going to explode. A numbing feeling spread from her head to her whole body. She closed her eyes tightly, forgetting what the real world looked like for a moment.

The pain was constant and would not give her time to rest. She really wanted to knock herself out with a stick, or take powerful sleeping pills and fall asleep directly, or even pierce her neck with an ice spike so that she wouldn't feel the pain that was driving her crazy.

She began to hate something deeply, but she didn't know what she hated. She just wanted to hate, just wanted to vent, just wanted to transfer her resentment to something else after enduring the severe pain.

She managed to open her eyes and looked at her hands.

Blue light floated on her fingertips, and she saw a bright white ice pick about to take shape.

She used her other hand to push down the pillow and cover her palm where the ice pick had formed, not caring that the tip of the ice pick pricked her own palm in the rush.

The bright red blood dripped onto the white sheets, but she couldn't even feel the pain on her hands.

The pain from her mind had invaded and taken over her limbs.

The smart network on my wrist vibrated gently, indicating an online call request.

Unable to raise her hand, she watched helplessly as the light on the smart network screen lit up, flourished, and then went out because no one touched it.

Her eyes closed the moment the screen's light went out.

Her arms were completely wrapped in the soft mattress, her body stopped shaking, and she lost consciousness with a tilt of her head.

The dusk light shone through the curtains on her bleeding palms.

When the night was dark and completely silent, she gradually woke up, turned her confused eyes, and was the first to see a large area of ​​bed sheets that had been stained darkly.

Then there was his right hand, which was already bloody.

The ice pick has not yet melted, and the tip is stuck in the palm of my hand. There is still blood flowing out, and it is difficult to see clearly in the dark room.

She gently moved the fingers of her right hand and felt her whole arm stiffen.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and used her left hand to prop up her body while trying not to use her right hand, but she could only stay in a prone position.

She wanted to reach out her left hand to touch the switch of the bedside lamp, but there was no way to move her left hand - she would lose her support and fall violently on the bed.

She was in a dilemma in mid-air, but she didn't want to waste any more time - she felt dizzy and had already lost too much blood, and it would be too late if she didn't treat the wound.

She felt a little broken and wanted to just fall on the bed and just wait for the body to stink and be taken away.

It really, really hurts. It’s so tiring to live, and I have to endure such pain all the time.

Although she couldn't see anything clearly, she could feel a denim backpack embroidered with a milk bottle lying quietly on a soft chair in the room. The chair was less than three meters away from her at the moment. There was something in the bag given to her by her mother. Diaries and notes left behind.

In the diary, there is a father who often blew up the kitchen or yard in order to practice magic when he was young, and a mother who has a bad temper and often curses but always indulges his father.

Each stroke in the diary flowed out from the tip of my mother's pen, just like the blood flowing out of her own body from her hands.

But they abandoned her when she was so young, leaving her to face this dangerous world alone.

Every time she envied those children who were protected and carefree, every time she wanted to hate the two people who left her behind.

But they were planning for her future in the moments before they died.

She couldn't even hate.

The tip of her nose was sore and she was choking. Tears quickly blurred her vision. She trembled her lips and moved the fingertips of her left hand. Dark blue light spots floated in the dark space, and they wanted to gather together several times to condense. It was actually some kind of hard object, but all failed because of lack of strength. As she kept trying, her chest gradually became stuffy, and the feeling of being out of breath emerged again. She struggled to hold on to the quilt under her body to support her body. I can't even lift my fingers.

The arm of her left hand gradually became weak, so she had to slowly relax the strength of her left hand and gradually leaned back on the bed.

After finally suppressing her emotions, she calmed down, but she still couldn't think of any way to save her life.

I'm sorry Adela, I will die in my own hands before I can avenge you.

I hope you won't be too angry when you see me and beat me to death again.

The process of waiting for death was boring and quiet. She was immersed in the imagination of how they might get along after meeting her parents, and even her fear was forgotten.

Suddenly there was a rustling sound beside her, and then her right hand hurt, and the ice pick was pulled out.

As her body tensed subconsciously, a chill came from her right hand, and a potion containing deep magical power was poured into her palm to repair her damaged flesh and blood.

Then she was turned over. The person who came did not turn on the light, but the cool long hair scattered on her body gave her a hint.

She blinked and looked at him quietly.

Then her chin was clenched, and a bottle of bitter-smelling potion was brought to her mouth, causing indescribable irritation to her nose.

She wanted to struggle, but the person forcefully poured the potion on her without any explanation.

In just a few seconds after the healing potion was poured down her throat, the potion was soaked in from the tip of her tongue to her throat, and she felt quite dazed.

Even after the other person released his grip on her chin, she remained as she was for a few seconds.

After a while, her eyes were covered by a warm palm, and then she heard a "click" sound from nearby.

It was the sound of a light being turned on.

At the same time, some warm yellow light came to her eyes through the gaps between the palms and fingers in front of her. She felt a little uncomfortable, so she squinted her eyes, and then clearly felt her eyelashes brushing across the other person's palms.

After she gradually adapted to the light, the hand stayed there for a while longer before moving away.

She turned her head slightly and saw her savior pulling out a chair in front of the desk and sitting down.

The chair was neither high nor wide enough to accommodate his long and thick black hair. Many hair strands were scattered on the armrests, and some of them were barely hanging down a few centimeters from the floor. The longer hair strands were directly on the floor. Intimate contact with the floor.

She wondered if this man was so rich that he would have carpets everywhere in his house to prevent his long hair from getting dirty.

Ernest Ramirez didn't intend to say anything, he just sat quietly on the chair with his eyelashes lowered.

His sharp and indifferent face during the day seemed much more relaxed under the warm light at night. The seriousness between his eyebrows and eyes had been softened to almost nothing. He was leaning back on the chair in an easy-going and serious thinking attitude. On the way up, aware of her sizing, he raised his eyes and glanced at her, then opened the voice input function of Zhiwang and said:

"Caught up. He's still alive. You can continue to play."

Aecilia:……

She instinctively glanced over to confirm whether she was dead or not because of this voice message.

He then lowered his head and looked at Zhiwang. After a while, he said again:

"Can you speak now? Lucius wants to hear a word from you to confirm your life and death."

The silence on Aecilia's side was as if she and him were in two different spaces.

So Ernest continued to reply by voice:

"She can't speak yet."

……

"Okay, but I'll leave it to you to handle those stores."

……

"He's really not dead."

After saying this, he closed the Zhiwang, but he did not lower his gaze again, but looked at her impartially.

Ecilia, who was extremely sleepy after drinking the medicine, closed her eyes under this death gaze and quickly fell asleep.

He didn't know how long she would sleep until, and he was worried that she would be so weak that she couldn't speak at the moment. When she woke up early tomorrow morning, she would be frightened by the blood on the bed and faint again. Ernest waited until she fell asleep completely, then stood up and used magic to stop her. She cleaned the blood off her hands.

The whole sheet was brand new, and there was nothing suspicious about it. He took one last look at her, turned off the light, and turned to leave.