[Marvel x You] Otome Proposition

1.

In the name of Allah, the Most Merciful and the Merciful.

I am writing this letter.

This is not my first letter.But I will still stick those stamps over and over again with glue as before, countless times.

Only this time, you won't have to wrap your scarf tightly to catch up with the mailman, and wait while you bow your head through the smog that fills the streets.

The hopeless years of the past are long and fleeting, passing by with the background of artillery fire.

Time and time again, in my thoughts, I stood at the window waiting for a reply, and then took out the next piece of letter paper that was melted and smashed in the flames of war.

I used to have endless secret expectations, watching those letters that never heard from go away.But fate's misses and regrets came one after another, always making bad jokes with me.

Those eternal pains in life and happiness that will never be obtained have never been relieved by a single word written.I have been away from the disintegrated Soviet Union for a long time, and this hot and cold war has lasted for a long time, haunting like ghosts.

But no matter what, I write this letter, my last, and I hope it will go where it should.And every word here should not be seen by anyone but you and me.

When I write this letter, my skin has already lost its luster, and I am already old and dying.

Life has entered such a stage, no matter what you say, you have to let it slip through your fingers reluctantly and helplessly.

How unfair this arrangement is to me.The fallen leaves also drifted in, and the windows were not closed too tightly, and these leaves kept blocking the tip of my pen.

I couldn't stop writing, I still wrote these words urgently and full of melancholy, waiting to fold this letter and mail it to where it should go.

In the future, if it is buried deep in the ground next to my dead body or her, then the mission will be fulfilled.

That's why I wrote it down.Mr. Coslin, I implore you to read on.

I thought about it for a long time, broke a few pages of waste paper, and struggled to figure out where to start.But who can be a good life narrator?

I have to admit that I didn't read many books. I was born in a barren village. The only few lines of poems I can remember are my wife's reading slowly while watching my eyes.

A large number of fragmentary childhood memories will keep flashing in the brains of old people, like gray stones bouncing around randomly.

Then it would be better to start from the time when the memory started to be connected together. From the time I met the lady, my memory began to consciously and wonderfully weave.

That's the lady I've been looking for all my life.

2.

I knew that lady before World War II. In that year, she married the owner of the bungalow where I worked.

When she first entered the house, she had lipstick and a cigarette.After lighting a cigarette, she just came in from the door and walked around casually.

The kitchen where I work is not too close or far from the main entrance. There is a long and narrow side road separated by a narrow section of lush weeds. Walking through it will make the superficial skin itchy and numb.

The circle she walked in included such a deserted road, and no one could understand why she walked here.This was exactly the first fate I encountered.

It was a typical summer, the sun was shining on everything, and it was wildly flamboyant.

The sound of cicadas was bustling by the tree, and other servants and I crowded together on the small stool at the door to peel corn. The newly harvested corn kernels were tightly packed together, and the nails on the peeling ground could not stop sour.

At this moment, a red-haired woman came out from the narrow grassy path.

She was wearing a sun hat, and her face was undisguisedly glamorous when she raised her face. When she walked over, the skirt of her sleeveless cream white skirt was swinging, revealing her bare calves.

Everyone seemed to be intimidated by the sound of footsteps stepping in, the kitchen immediately became quiet, and the noisy voices became timid.

I am also timid.

I clasped the corn in my hand, buried my head, hoping to make myself less conspicuous, and didn't know whether I should look at her or not.I actually watched it too, looking down subconsciously from the corner of my eye.

It's hard to explain how I feel in my heart, I only heard a hoarse laughter gently in my ears, like smoke crawling through the itchy throat, that laughter seemed to be laughing at our nervousness of making a fuss.

And there was a small water tank next to me. There was no green algae in it, and the clean water was bright. When I lowered my head, I saw my nervous and blushing face.

She lightly raised her drawn eyebrows, walked over with an indescribable elegance, took out a lipstick.

This is the disadvantage of not reading too many books. At that time, my face was burning badly, but my mind was blank, and I was almost barren and thirsty.

Close at hand, she smelled like a mature woman, she sprayed some perfume on her neck and wrists, pinched a burning cigarette in her left hand, and the other hand was adding color to her beautiful red lips.

Whenever her eyes slanted past me indifferently, it caused a trembling that I couldn't breathe in my heart.

Yes, having said that, I must admit to you that involuntary attraction is wonderful and frightening, especially for a person who has no experience of feelings.

Her charming every move is like a poisoned wine glass handed to her lips, rippling with sparkling charm.

And this is enough to make me feel condemned in my heart.Even though she was just refilling her lipstick with the mirror of water next to me.But every heartbeat of every moment confuses me, and it's morally wrong.

Allah, please forgive me.

3.

Next, allow me to call her Natasha.

It is meaningless to mention the original name that was made up because of the mission.Although I have called it thousands of times in my heart, with all kinds of emotions.

Maybe the destined person will feel something in the dark, just like the natural law of spores quietly renewing green.The palpitations I felt were unspoken.

Every morning, Natasha walked out wearing a close-fitting silk dress, with a trace of lazy sexiness naturally pursed at the corner of her mouth, looking at the busy servants downstairs with a half-smile, and slowly walked down the escalator.

I know you.

It was the first thing she really said to me.

The fresh and beautiful flowers in the vase were arranged in a cross. Natasha stopped by, fiddled with them, and said something casually to me who was standing aside.

she knows me.The little girl with red hands and face peeling corn.

I became nervous all of a sudden, and clenched the flower branch that I hadn't had time to put on it a little bit. I wanted to raise my head, but quickly lowered it to hide my embarrassment.

The servant served breakfast on the large wooden dining table. The bread was hot, and there were various green vegetables on the plate, with sizzling and shiny bacon on top.

These seemingly appetizing breakfasts are obviously more interesting than a faltering maid who can't speak.

Mrs. Natasha seemed to be just talking to herself casually, brushing the slightly opened petals with her fingers, then straightened her short curly red hair that hung loosely around her shoulders, and left to walk towards the dining table.

Maybe she wasn't waiting for me to answer, and I didn't feel disappointed, I just lowered my head and breathed a sigh of relief, and wiped off the juice from the flowers and branches in my hands on the sarong while no one was paying attention.

I know, I had an undeniable chuckle when Natasha said she knew me.

The servants will serve on the side, and I will be there too.The fresh morning sunlight streamed through the hall, refracted off the marble floor, and leaked some gold on the dining table.

Mrs. Natasha dined alone. She spread some jam, cut the vegetables and meat accurately and neatly with a knife and fork, and put them into her mouth methodically.

It was a strange scene, but everyone was used to it.In this magnificent, white mansion, the host is always on a business trip, and the number of times we have seen the decoration workers is much more than the number of times we have seen the host in the past few years.

Maybe it's a very sensitive job, so I don't come back often, leaving the house empty, making people feel deserted-this is the gossip of the servants in their spare time.

I don't always get involved in such topics, but when I am distracted when doing chores, I will guess, and even feel a little resentful.For Madame Natasha.

The beauty and elegance of women are sometimes deliberately portrayed.Madame Natasha is also a portrait.She is beautiful, elegant and radiant.

But that's different again. Although an ordinary beautiful woman is arrogant, she is more or less soft.Mrs. Natasha raised the torus, her green eyes looked at a place in the distance, her eyes were cold, like a aimed bullet about to be fired.

I'm sensitive to the difference, but it's hard to generalize.In the eyes of others, Madam is just a person who loves flowers, and the scene of her arranging flowers in the window is just an ordinary figure oil painting.

After a long time later, when I left here and came back again, I realized how many secret messages were hidden in the positions of these vases, large and small, far and near.

At that time, my biggest thought was just to resent the "cold treatment" my wife received. If I had the opportunity to touch her, how could I be careless, let alone let her be dusted.

It wasn't until today that I realized that that sensitivity to Natasha was why she noticed me.

Perhaps it should be said that it was the reason for observing and monitoring me in the first place.

We went out together once.Me and Natasha.Mrs. Natasha ordered me to sit in the back seat with her. Her upper body was slightly leaning against the window. Half of her three-dimensional face was shaded by the light, facing me who was sitting stiffly.

So in this slow-moving car, we had our first real conversation.

Natasha rolled down the car window, and the cigarette tail was facing the retreating street. She clicked the lighter, and the flame jumped into the tobacco and started to burn.

Holding a cigarette, she pointed out the window and asked me, "Where are you from?"

"Ma'am, I'm from that village in Passobag."

I'm not sure if I have a redneck accent, or amusingly, if I use the wrong words for what I'm saying.I just answered her, panicking like a hot heart.

Natasha looked back at me, as if attracted by this unknown place name, raised her bright red lips, and urged her a little: "What does it look like? Are there many people? Tell me more. ."

I pinch my fingers curled up and scratching indiscriminately on my knees, and muster up the courage to let go of my mouth a little.

"Our village does have a lot of people, especially children.

Although not very rich, every family likes children, and those newborns are like fruits on a tree, falling out of their stomachs constantly.

They cry from birth, and they cry day and night, making them so noisy that they can't sleep at night. "

She was silent for a while, the smoke was half burned, the sound of the wheels rubbing against the ground mixed with the noise of the car gradually driving into the city market.

"Child?" Madam Natasha turned around, her blue eyes were looking straight at the car window in front of her, she suddenly said in the silence, her voice floated up along with the smoke.

And that expression, captured by me in a flash, seemed to accidentally touch this strange and magical word, full of traces of strange pain.

"Children always enjoy the joy of new birth in the pain of the mother's body."

Natasha almost immediately forgot about the subtle gaffe, and with a mature and frivolous posture and a hoarse voice, she said a plausible criticism.

That was not what she had in mind.This is where my perception lies.

I'm not a spy, nor an undercover agent.When you have special feelings for a person, any subtle clues will undoubtedly be revealed.

Although I didn't realize that she was testing me, I got a different message from it.I care about these clues, which are of no use to me, because I see the tiny scars on Natasha, the graceful, beautiful creature.

"Because the amniotic fluid is gentle, like the shelter of the uterus, the love that is conceived can break free from these containers and cannot hurt you, because you also enjoy the tenderness and protection of love."

I couldn't help raising my head that had been lowered all the time, and the surrounding scene in my eyes turned into an afterimage outside the window.

Natasha smiled.This smile belongs to the laugh of a mature and charming woman.She threw the extinguished cigarette into the gutter outside the window and told the driver to drive a little longer.

For a moment, she smiled.We looked at each other briefly, as if souls were spying on each other for a moment.

——End of the first half

The author has something to say: it is a clumsy imitation style, an epistolary part that prevents the mountains from singing back.The plot is made up.