Started with a green hat for Verlaine

In France, in a country with an eleven-hour time difference from Hawaii in the United States, it was early in the morning. Paul Verlaine, who had received a new round of medical examinations, returned to his place in Paris.

He has been drawn a lot of blood, his face is slightly pale, his figure is slender and charming, and he is still an eye-catching male on the Avenue Jacques.

Only he knows that his body seems to be perfect, but in fact there are hidden dangers.

How can man-made weapons be without problems.

When human beings tried to touch the domain of gods and create "gods", their ambition and perseverance made them successful, but the "gods" they created lost their dignity, became mundane, and were contaminated with what they shouldn't have. "Disease" - Paul Verlaine was born unable to have normal sexual intercourse with the male instinct.

From a medical point of view, he suffers from a complex physical and mental illness, which leads to a serious lack of emotion, and it is difficult for his body to have a strong and long-term sexual impulse.

Sexually, he is the passive party.

This is enough to show that his body genes refuse to reproduce.

Like a god who hates touching a mortal.

He has a powerful body envied by human beings, and has awakened supernatural powers of the "transcendent" level since birth, but the heart of this body is "empty", and a piece has been dug out. He can feel the emotions conveyed by human beings, but An inability to grasp the emotion that keeps passing by.

Passing by the "Duke Massa Mansion" at No. 38 Jacques Street, Paul Verlaine glanced at it. The "French Writers Association" on it was very eye-catching, and there was a large bookstore next to it.

This is the place where Honoré de Balzac, who is also a transcendent, lived during his lifetime.

Now many people go to worship.

Why "worship"?Good question, fellow Transcendent died during the war at age 51.The other party worked sixteen to eighteen hours a day, day and night upside down, always had a cup of coffee on the table, and habitually worked from afternoon to the next day. The cause of death was unsurprisingly overwork and chronic coffee poisoning.

It is rumored that Honoré de Balzac drank fifty thousand cups of coffee.

The French government was ashamed to bring up the matter and refused to reward the other side with war heroes.

This thing is even better.

The other party died not from exhaustion in international wars, but from writing novels. Although Honoré de Balzac was a transcendent level superhuman, he was keen on writing novels and wrote 91 novels in his life. Laid a solid foundation for French literature.

Because the war was too busy, and in order to write novels at the same time, this colleague of the transcendent was exhausted to death.

Paul Verlaine was stunned when he knew about this strange incident.

France's enemies did nothing.

Our side lost two people.

Well, it is Arthur Rimbaud and Honoré de Balzac, France lost two transcendents, and was laughed at by Britain and other victorious countries after the end of the power war.

Out of the mentality of being entertained, Paul Verlaine walked into a nearby bookstore and bought the books "Eugénie Grandet" and "Old Man Goriot" by colleagues of the Transcendence, wanting to read the books that were blown up. What kind of works is the miraculous critical realism literature.

Not only him, many people with supernatural powers who knew the author's true identity bought it admiringly.

This is the "handed down work" of the transcendent.

When he was about to leave the bookstore, Paul Verlaine glanced over the overseas new book area, and happened to witness the promotional words: "Mr. Jean-Nicolas' latest poem!"

Paul Verlaine wanted to leave, hesitated for a moment, and went back to visit that area.

At the checkout counter, the waiter actually knew Paul Verlaine, and said excitedly: "It's Mr. Verlaine, you haven't been to Jacques Avenue for a long time."

"Busy at work." Paul Verlaine smiled and handed over the purchased books.

The waiter said: "Oh, a man like you really shouldn't stay in one place. You make me feel like a drifting ocean. You should be traveling abroad frequently."

Paul Verlaine was silent.

Under the sleeve of his shirt, the pinhole where the blood was drawn had healed.

The vacancy in people's hearts has been unable to heal for a long time.

"It's this novel." The waiter talked a lot and chattered, "You must be here for Mr. Jean-Nicolas like everyone else. The poet suddenly appeared and fell silent. I wrote poetry, but I wrote it for a novel.”

Paul Verlaine walked to the house at No. 289 Jacques Avenue with a bag of books he bought on the spur of the moment.

He took out the long-lost key and inserted it into the lock of the door.

Dust shakes off.

He covered his mouth and nose, and looked at this house that no one lived in for a long time, and he didn't dislike that no one took care of it. With a "swish", he opened the curtains that blocked the light, opened the windows, and let the fresh air outside circulate. Come in and face the street view on the main street.

"It's still the same here."

Paul Verlaine took off the dust-proof cloth, picked a square sofa where he used to sit and read a book, and sat on the sofa, with his feet habitually leaning against the low stool in front.

His legs are long and he doesn't lean against anything, so it's uncomfortable to sit on a sofa that's too short.

The silver-haired young man hummed an incongruous melody, opened the new book he bought in the bag, and for the first time, he gave up the works of his fellow Transcendents and read the poems of the poets he had admired in the past.

"Which page is it..." He flipped through it, but couldn't find it, and looked again.

"The main character is Japanese."

"Amnesia?"

"Being a fashion designer after amnesia at the age of 17? What is this..."

In order to savor poetry, Paul Verlaine read the works patiently. Gradually, he discovered the situation of Ryuji Shibukawa. This character is an "ice cube" that no one can impress.

His choice to devote himself to art is only due to his excessive aesthetics and inhuman character.

Yes, inhuman...

Paul Verlaine could tell at a glance that the protagonist described by the author was not the character that a human being should be. The vacancy, bewilderment, indifference and arrogance of the other party were just like his newly born self.

There was a place in his heart that was as empty as Shibukawa Ryuuji's.

Even, he is more empty.

Ryuuji Shibukawa can get a little satisfaction through the fashion design industry, and get inspiration from the muse in the global travel and artistic thinking collision, but he can't do it. He has no interest in art, and the clothes he buys can be worn decently. Will not force too much.As a French transcendent, he has enough money to squander, so he will not cherish those one-time luxuries.

Paul Verlaine's eyes unconsciously showed a trace of loneliness.

He continued to flip through and saw that Jean-Nicolas used poems to describe the life of a 17-year-old boy.

[At the age of 17, I don't care about anything. 】

[A beautiful dusk, the cups and cups of the coffee house are intertwined, and the light and shadow are flickering with the sound of noise! 】

【——Let’s go for a walk in the green linden forest. 】

【The fragrance of the linden tree...】

Paul Verlaine's fingertips trembled.

He remembered the linden forest, and also the scenery he had seen many years ago, when he met 16-year-old Arthur Rimbaud, and then became his partner.

When Arthur Rimbaud was 17 years old, he went to the opponent's hometown for a few days.

He said the street was too noisy.

Relatives and friends took him to the linden forest to relax.

He couldn't remember what mood he was in at that time, but the "god" who could clearly recall every frame seemed to be able to smell the wine on the roadside and the fragrance of the linden woods.

Later, he learned that the government did not choose Arthur Rimbaud as his partner at first, but chose other people, but Mr. Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud's teacher, recommended him to be a guide to guide Arthur Rimbaud, who also has the ability of space system.

Then... how did it become like this...

Oh, in the eyes of outsiders, they are the most intimate partners, they can entrust their backs, they can entrust their life and death, and they have stolen countless precious information from all over the world.

Wander through dangerous missions, and don't hide your true nature in the process of fully displaying supernatural abilities.

They slept.

Arthur Rimbaud hugged him.

Paul Verlaine's eyes were stained with melancholy, and his fingertips stroked the few lines of text.

In the novel, Ryuuji Shibukawa has been looking for memories, thinking that if he finds them, he will be able to fill the vacancy in his heart where snow has been falling all the time.Paul Verlaine knew it was useless, memory was memory, and if he couldn't grasp his emotions, he couldn't fill himself, until the end... was alone.

In the novel, a traveler tells Ryuji Shibukawa that love can fill the heart.

Paul Verlaine wanted to laugh: "What's the use of love? It's just a temporary thing..."

【"When you feel the love of others, and you are touched by the passion of love, over time, that temperature can flow to the bottom of your heart and melt the ice and snow in your heart."】

【"You can't fall in love with others, then find someone who loves you enough."】

【"Let that person's love fill you."】

【"When you can no longer forget the figure of the person who loves you..."】

【"You will be changed."】

【"It doesn't matter what kind of love, as long as it is the most sincere and flawless love, if the other party persists, don't retreat, and you will definitely get happiness."】

The hand of the silver-haired youth on the book was stiff.

What is he doing?

Read a novel, a work of a poet as beautiful as Rimbaud in Mallarme's mouth.

where is he?

No. 289 Jacques Avenue, in the house where relatives and friends used to live.

Has he ever been loved?

Yes, the love beyond friendship is that he personally killed his trusted partner. After a short period of joy, he thought he had left the other party in the best moment forever.

Every time he recalled the betrayed expression of the other party, he felt a little bit of excitement and happiness.

Such pleasures could not satisfy him.

The boring hours are piling up... more than ever.

No one understands himself anymore, no one trusts him anymore, and no one will give him pleasure at night, kiss his ear, and ask softly: "Paul, do you love me?"

Why……

Why are you asking me this question, I can't fall in love with anyone at all!

Paul Verlaine dropped the book on his lap and stooped to pick it up, and on the dusty floor he saw a ring that had been lost during a certain quarrel.

It rolled and fell in the corner, quietly, no one cared about it.

There are many contradictions between the two, and each other's personalities are unwilling to admit defeat, but the trust of life and death maintains their relationship, and isn't relationship a synonym for love?

Paul Verlaine wept unconsciously.

Before he tore this trust, had he ever been this close to happiness?

It's ridiculous.

Arthur Rimbaud, you love your country more than I do.

Am I joy and pain for part of the love you give...

Obviously... I just want to get the "unknown energy block" with the same feeling. You refused to give it to me and insisted on handing it over to France, so I attacked you...

Dear friends, I will not regret it, you go to hell to repay your motherland!

Can't give all the love--

Useless.