God forbids me to fall in love

"..."

Moen's heartbeat suddenly missed a beat, and he felt an indescribable sense of panic.

"I want to die now..." Bridge murmured and repeated.

His voice became weak and thin, and his breath was unsteady, as if he was choking.

"No!" Moen blurted out his denial, and he took a step forward in a panic, staring firmly into Bridge's eyes, not wanting to see a single bit of certainty from them.

"Don't have such thoughts, your mother-in-law is still waiting for you at home!" He tugged at the arm of the poor stranger who issued a "death warning announcement" when they first met, and there was a trace of his own in his tone of voice. Unaware familiarity and pleading.

Moen's heartbeat became very fast, and he seemed to see Bridge's tragic ending in those few short sentences.

Perhaps the other party's eyes were too desperate, and even led his emotions to a negative extreme.

He attributed this complex and heavy feeling to basic sympathy for strangers and general vigilance against death, but...

Somehow, he felt that this was not the case, or that it was not only this.

There is also a sense of guilt...?

"Moen..." Bridge was stunned for a moment. He lowered his head and looked at the hand that belonged to Moen on his arm. There is actually a lot more look.

It seems that a corpse is suddenly injected with life, but the "life" belonging to Bridge is released through hazy tears.

"Do you still remember me? Are you pretending these days? What are your difficulties?"

There was dependence and hope hidden in Bridge's sad tone, and he seemed to want to wait for a positive answer from Moen.

But the paradox was that he didn't dare to take the initiative to make any approach to Moen, but took a step back, letting Moen's hand fall from him.

Looking at the abnormally emotional Bridge in front of him, Moen only felt at a loss.

This person who was bullied by other phantoms in the phantom seems to have many stories, and he seems to be familiar with the owner of the identity he plays in the phantom...

But Moen confirmed that he did not put himself into the bodies of other phantoms in the illusion like a god.

He wanted to shake his head subconsciously, but he faintly felt that this action was indescribably cruel to Bridge.

"I know, you even mentioned my mother-in-law." Bridge roughly wiped his tears with his hand, forced his own breath, and raised his head to look at Moen.

grandma...

Moen stood in place and felt his fingers become numb one by one.

He didn't speak, recalling that he did blurt out a sentence just now, moving out his relatives to prevent a possible "suicide" - this is very reasonable.

Just, why mother-in-law?

Why not parents, brothers, or anyone else, but mother-in-law, only mother-in-law?

Moen clenched his fists suddenly, he might have had some hallucinations, because just now when he questioned himself following Klich's question, he seemed to really hear the wail of an elderly lady.

Wails from his own memory, like shouts he had heard himself.

The shattered mournful cries that belonged to the old woman seemed to be beating on Moen's head. Those words were incomplete and vague, but they could be pieced together into a wake-up call called "Take Care of Creech".

...a splitting headache.

"...Moen."

A call from above.

The familiar voice saved Moen from the physical pain, and he immediately raised his head to look at the open window of the third-floor room.

The afterglow of the setting sun in the evening was actually a bit dazzling. The god stood by the window, his light golden hair was covered with a layer of light, and the expression on his face was hidden under the halo.

The gods stood there silently, looking down at the "human world" below.Moen secretly guessed that Victor's expression must be pity, because what the other party blurted out next

"A poor vision."

The god spoke softly, his voice was not heavy, but it could be clearly conveyed to Moen's ears, as if the distance between the two was not a few floors high, but they were communicating face to face.

"Poor phantom"—that's how the gods defined Bridger.

"Take him to eat." Shenming continued, with a gentle smile in his tone.

Even in the face of false illusions, the gods still maintain a pure compassion.

Realizing this, Moen's heart suddenly relaxed a lot.

Because he remembered the burning torture he witnessed with Vilnius on the square of an unknown town a few days ago.

At that time, Vernes, who obviously lost the memory of being a god, still felt sad and sympathetic to the misfortunes of the tiny human beings.

Nothing has changed, nothing has changed...

Moen comforted himself secretly, the feeling of disobedience in the past few days was just his illusion, it was his nervousness and sensitivity caused by the influence of the illusion.

The sunset is disappearing faster than expected.

The light and shadow changed, and Victor's handsome face flickered.

Moen raised his neck and stared at it for two seconds, then nodded with a smile.

He put all the entanglement behind him, turned around to look at Bridge, and said, "I'll take you in to eat first..."

Facing the increasingly dazed Bridge, he couldn't help adding: "Don't cry, everything will be fine, and those arrogant bad guys will pay the price."

Bridge responded two times in a slow and flustered manner, looking at the ground blankly, his emotions seemed to have gradually calmed down, and he no longer insisted on the question of "mother-in-law".

It's just that there are still a lot of tears on his face.

Moen exhaled quietly, looked at the small door not far away, hesitated for two seconds, then grabbed Bridge's slender arm, and walked in with them.

In fact, there was still a little bit of drumming in his heart.

After witnessing the ferocity of the strong man who beat people, he had a very bad impression of the group of phantoms here. Coupled with the disgusting hallucinations about food that he just had for some reason, at least he himself has no appetite at all. No.

After entering the door, Moen let go of his hand, turned his head to confirm Bridge's figure, and led the people to approach the huge long dining table in the center silently.

From the moment I entered the door, the voices in my ears became very noisy.

All kinds of rude conversations and chewing sounds, as well as the sounds of knives and forks touching each other, were mixed together, but a faint sound of swallowing saliva was not suppressed.

Moen glanced sideways at the sound maker, and saw that Bridge's eyes were fixed on the dining table, his eyes filled with a sick desire.

It's not sure how long he hasn't eaten, but he's obviously very hungry.

The number of people at the giant dining table has decreased by a third, and it seems that they have finished eating.

And two-thirds of the food on the table has disappeared, and everyone who is still sitting on the seat is swallowing. This seems to be a war without smoke.

In the case of "more porridge and less", there is actually a complete and sufficient meal in front of an empty seat. If you guessed right, the intervention of the gods is indispensable for this arrangement.

Soon, the person sitting next to that seat stopped eating with difficulty, turned his head slowly, and looked at Bridge.

"Bridge, I'll just wait for you." His facial muscles twisted a few times as if convulsed, and he pulled out a smile that seemed very unsuitable to Moen, and patted the vacant chair.

Is this the result of God's will?

It's really weird.

The "Master Ferguson" who was still beating and bullying Bridge outside just now came to welcome the meal in person.The surrounding people also fell silent for a moment, and all of them held their breaths waiting for Bridge to take his seat.

If the person who was invited to sit down was Moen himself, he would definitely not have passed. Unexpectedly, Bridge's footsteps were hasty and eager, and he directly passed the hesitant Moen and rushed over.

"Be careful..."

The exhortations that Moen couldn't help but didn't reach Bridge's ears in time.

Seeing that Bridge sat down quickly and began to gobble, he felt a little more discomfort in his heart.

It may be that the other party's movement was too fast to give him an empathetic experience, and Moen only felt his stomach churning for a while.

Uncomfortable.

So uncomfortable.

Not only for the above reasons, but also

Why are those phantoms staring at him like nothing?

This feeling of being surrounded by sight is really uncomfortable.

Moen's whole body was almost about to explode.

From the last second, except for Bridge who was concentrating on eating, everyone including Ferguson stopped their movements and looked at him secretly.

Yes, secretly.

Those eyes were evasive, but like torches.

Moen was like a hare that accidentally broke into a forest surrounded by wolves, surrounded by coveting and malicious eyes.

His scalp was numb, and he even suspected for a moment that this was a group of people who ate human flesh, because their gazes on him were so similar to the gazes on the delicacies on the dinner plate.

The idea of ​​wanting to accompany Bridge all the way was immediately dismissed, and Moen's feet stepped back two steps instinctively, and then he couldn't bear it anymore and ran out of the dining room with a strange atmosphere.

We must get out of here as soon as possible--that was the only thought left in my mind.

Moen ran back to the deck and looked up at the window on the third floor, where the god was no longer there.

He reached into his bosom to feel for the log that carved the icon in his pocket, and took it out to stroke the wood's shaft.

The gods said that as long as the icon is carved, they can leave this illusion.

He used to be a carpenter, and it only took one afternoon at most to carve a palm-sized icon. It was not difficult, and he was very skilled.

Moen looked down at the ordinary log and forgot to blink.

The palm of his hand holding the wood became more and more forceful, and the knuckles of his fingers were faintly white.

He's skilled, he's skilled...

He kept repeating this sentence in his heart, telling himself this fact repeatedly, but his breathing gradually became short of breath.

because he found

His mind went blank.

Facing a piece of logs waiting to be processed, he, who has carpentry experience, was helpless.

Even more frightening, when he tries to look back on his days as a carpenter surviving in a small town, he discovers that he has no memory of that period at all.

The night wind blew over with the fishy smell of the sea, and the fishing nets hanging on the railing fluttered in the wind.

Moen was dazed for a moment, then looked down at his palm again.

These rough hands have never held a carving knife for carving wood.

on the other hand……

There are still old wounds from being strangled by fishing nets.