【Lenke】Spring Family Gathering

【伦克】春日家庭聚会

https://42milk.lofter.com/post/31ed617b_1cb264912

Dear Sui Sui's commissioned work, thank you mommy for not beating me for being an ooc scum.

⚠️Post-apocalyptic if line/Dread Bishop Lun of the Church of Night & Lord of Mystery Ke/Secondary setting: Descendants of Moretti

After three centuries, he once again stopped in front of the mirror and cast his gaze at the stranger he had ignored for a long time. The black-haired, green-eyed young man returned the same cold gaze. The "Goddess's Scythe" of the Church of Darkness stared at his reflection in the dim light of the afternoon. The senior deacon's fingers traced on the smooth mirror through a layer of scarlet leather, from thick black eyebrows to tightly pursed lips. The emerald eyes were deep, as quiet as a lake against a dense forest. The deacon's portrait was once published on the title page of a poetry collection. Thanks to his handsome appearance, the poor lyric poetry collection was briefly a best-seller. Leonard Mitchell remembered this insignificant past event purely by chance. In early winter, the church welcomed a group of new red gloves students who needed to continue their studies. When he met those enthusiastic young people, they had just finished that day's class and were walking and laughing on the deep corridor. Someone noticed the senior deacon standing at the corner of the stairs. After seeing his iconic green eyes and red gloves, the younger generations looked at him with a bit more awe. They greeted Leonard with a little restraint. The spirit driven by the deacon was patrolling in the middle, bringing him the discussion of the red gloves who were walking away. Is that the sharpest sickle of the goddess in the legend? The youngest senior deacon, the gentleman, was as serious as the rumors said. It was hard to believe that he had written such a passionate poem... Leonard passed through the spirits dancing silently like a swarm of bats, and the dark winter sky brushed against His pure black robe. Of course, it had been several centuries since he last wrote a poem. Those clumsy words and stiff rhymes were distant and unfamiliar, like the crimson moonlight.

Yes, since the catastrophe subsided, the moon he was familiar with turned silvery white, as pure white as the snow in Winter County, so bright that it was inhuman. Leonard could still remember the day when the Outer Gods retreated. He knelt exhausted on the battlefield that had returned to silence. The blood rain stopped the moment the silver moonlight broke through the clouds, and he looked up at the crimson earth. The joy of victory and the pain of sacrifice were so vague at that moment. In his empty thoughts, only one lightning-like thought struck him: the world he was familiar with had left along with the disaster in the starry sky, and this unfamiliar silver-white moonlight was the grave of the old era that had passed away.

The Beyonders who have reached the top level of the Sequence Pyramid essentially do not need sleep, just as they no longer need to eat. All behaviors that imitate human life are means to stabilize human nature. Leonard knew that his condition was far from good. Even with the blessing of the gods, his reckless promotion before the end of the world still planted the seeds of disaster for him. Leonard was once lost in the protracted clearing operation. The wounds and disasters left by the Outer Gods on this land were so deep that he would occasionally have the illusion that the battlefield he was about to go to was a thorny land that could never be eradicated, and he and other Red Gloves, Mechanical Hearts, Punishers, and all the devout executors of the gods were dull woodcutters, tirelessly running towards the new poisonous forest. Leonard's various thoughts and emotions were gradually exhausted in this long battle, until this dispute soaked in blood and tears was about to come to an end, when Ms. Arianna recalled him from the front line of the southern continent at a dream meeting of the church's top leaders.

The front line no longer needs so many saints stationed there. The ascetic looked at him with his calm black eyes. That penetrating look made it impossible for him to utter any words of defense. What you should focus on right now is to stabilize your anchor before you really lose control.

So Leonard returned to Loen. After reporting back to the temple, he was sent to Backlund for a long time. This capital of all cities was nearly destroyed in the shock of the doomsday. Due to the drastic changes in the terrain, half of the urban area was flooded by the river. He witnessed how people rebuilt this city-state on the ruins. They planned new urban areas in the northern highlands, rebuilt subways, and built bridges to connect many islands downstream, making this tormented metropolis shine again. More than three hundred years later, when Leonard looked at the exquisite villas lining the riverbank from the observation deck of the Cross Sanatorium, he found it difficult to remember the decayed scene he saw when he first returned.

This Cross Sanatorium is located on the largest Bayam Island in the southern area of ​​Backlund. It was built with funds from the Church of Fools. Its strange name comes from the medical and health charity organization of the same name jointly founded by the Church of Fools and the Church of the Earth. Leonard's trip was to visit his injured subordinates. The unfortunate deacon should have enjoyed a rare vacation. He accidentally discovered the escaped Rose School believers during his journey. Before the church's support arrived, he was discovered by the target in the middle of the pursuit, and the two sides engaged in a fierce battle. The subordinate who escaped death was still in the mood to joke. Fortunately, there were extraordinary people passing by who lent a hand, otherwise he would have to trouble his boss to pay him a pension. The red gloves who were traveling with him heard this and poked the flowers into the patient's face unhappily. Leonard stood on one side of the ward, listened to the side for a moment, and asked abruptly: "Who lives in the next room?"

Alice Moretti, a Loenese, was a "mechanical expert" who believed in fools. She had lived in Bayam for a long time before, but sold her property two years ago and started a long journey with her family. Another patient Leonard needed to visit on this trip was this lady who helped his subordinates. The butler held a bunch of lily of the valley and knocked on the door of the ward. A gentle voice answered, "Come in."

He walked into the single room with light green walls. The window was open on one side. The early spring breeze brought the light fragrance of the forsythia in the garden, diluting the bitterness of the medicine. The woman sitting on the bedside put down the book in her hand and smiled at the visitor. Her white hair was combed carefully, and her deep brown eyes were still bright on her thin face with deep wrinkles. After explaining his purpose, Leonard put the flowers into the water bottle on the bedside table for Ms. Moretti. He turned around and looked at the boy sitting on the other side of the bed. The boy sat in the shadow where the sun could not reach, as if he was behind a curtain that was difficult to be discovered. He quietly looked at the believers of the night. He had black hair and brown eyes, and he looked very similar to the real him, Leonard thought, but not so thin. The spirits had become silent without knowing when. Even if the other party was just a tiny fragment of the master of the spirit world, they still instinctively awed him. Leonard could only hear the hollow, endless sound of the wind and the echo of the tide from far away from the boy, perhaps it was just the whisper of the stars that he could not understand. He saw his own reflection in those mirror-like eyes, green eyes and red gloves, expressionless face, like an empty beach after the tide receded.

This is my family member. I'm sorry, he doesn't like to talk much. The lady smiled and introduced him to the guests. His name is Klein Moretti. Nice to meet you.

Thanks to a member of the Tarot Club with many pen names, to this day, the five seas hunting legend of the crazy adventurer Gehrman Sparrow, the mysterious magician Merlin Hermes and the strange automatic wishing machine he created, the romantic and wealthy Dawn Dantes' adventures in the southern continent... These novels, originally written to fulfill the gods' instructions, are widely circulated, especially the dramas adapted with adventurers as the protagonists, which are still favored by theaters. Leonard is not interested in these plays. He stopped at the door of the Civic Theater in the North District because he saw a familiar figure standing in front of a large eye-catching poster. The black-haired boy wearing a beret was looking up and holding a half-eaten pie in his hand. The other party looked at the butler with a sense of something. "Morretti" held down his hat and nodded to him calmly. In the next moment, he disappeared among the passers-by, like a drop of ink blending into the river.

Small incidents like this during patrols were not uncommon after that visit. "Morretti" seemed to be keen on wandering aimlessly in Backlund. Leonard's subordinate - an overly enthusiastic and well-informed Red Gloves team leader - claimed that he saw the boy sitting in the square in front of St. Samuel's Church for an entire afternoon. The white pigeons mistook him for a harmless statue and huddled together above the boy's head. He tried to send the boy back to the sanatorium, but was politely refused by "Morretti". The boy said that he knew the way back and just wanted to get some fresh air.

Leonard didn't quite understand whether this was a new attempt to maintain humanity. Mr. Deacon was flipping through the lengthy routine report while listening to his colleagues chatting. The surname Moretti has appeared a little too frequently recently. The red gloves, who had a rare leisure time during the shift, were marveling at a file. They were studying the family tree of their colleague's savior. From the available records, it seemed that this family had produced several outstanding "craftsmen". Most of the members who did not choose to embark on an extraordinary path were engaged in professions such as finance and taxation, and teachers. Alice Moretti was born in Bayam. She presided over several large-scale projects in Backlund since the 724th year of the Sixth Epoch, including the replanning of the subway line in the old city, the construction of the breakwater of the commercial island in the southern area, and the selection and construction of a new site in the dock area... In comparison, the ancestor of this respectable lady was more well-known in the mysterious world, Melissa Moretti, who made great achievements in the fields of alchemy and psychic-driven machinery during her lifetime. However, Ms. Melissa's most famous work is "Mr. Tentacle Cat". Leonard once bought a Mr. Cat as a gift for a subordinate who became a father for the first time. It is an exquisite doll with a black cat head wearing a top hat, and a bunch of chubby tentacles under the formal suit. After winding up the doll, it will do some small movements such as taking off the hat to salute, bowing and inviting dance, and it can also sing different songs by replacing the sound parts. It is very popular with children and some adults who still have a childlike heart. But it is regrettable that this family has always been small. Many family members did not choose to get married. Even those descendants who became Beyonders remained in the low sequence. Alice Moretti was the same. She did not try to cross the door of demigod. Backlund was not the end of their journey. The lady was old. Even if she did not encounter the followers of the Rose School, arthritis and other chronic diseases made it impossible for her to continue traveling with the boy.

It's such a pity, the enthusiastic captain sighed as he flipped through the files, there are only these two descendants left of this legendary family.

He likes to go to the square of St. Samuel Church to feed pigeons on days when it doesn't rain. The pigeons' happiness is simple and pure. They will not hate this "human" who often feeds the birds with various historical projections. The boy collapsed peacefully on the bench, allowing the fat pigeons to use him as a resting place. The birds have a slightly higher body temperature, and their soft feathers rub against his cheeks, making him drowsy. The early spring wind contains moist water vapor. He fell asleep briefly in the echoing bells. The dream that was forever blessed by the sleeping lord hung a veil on his forehead. During the days of fighting with Fusheng Xuanhuang Tianzun, the dreams were all murderous arenas. They danced gracefully in the dazzling dream repertoire like a magic cube, each with the determination to tear and devour their dance partner. Then came the year of the end of the world. In the war between gods outside the crumbling barrier, He was forced to immerse in the dreams woven by the Outer Gods. They were all chaotic performances that were completely different from the style of the previous Lord of Mysteries. They were poisonous soups boiled by bottomless malice. After that, mankind began a long reconstruction on the devastated land. His remaining humanity was exhausted. When the divinity responded to the prayers of believers, the human part slept soundly in his own dreams. He once forgot his own name. His mixed soul was too immature and thin. The total number of years he lived as a human was no more than a century. The command of the gods was the crown placed on his head. At the end of the universe in his dream, he listened to the whispers of the stars that had gone out billions of years ago. In order to remedy the little humanity left, he would also try to experience life. He traveled through different time and space to play different lives. The dead stars hung above his head and whispered softly, like watching a fool who insisted on using a bamboo basket to hold the reflection of the moon in the spring water. Half asleep and half awake, the boy saw a pair of men's boots between the flapping wings of the birds, and walked straight to the bench where he was sitting, wearing a black windbreaker and red gloves. He raised his head and looked at the green-eyed butler, who was raising his eyebrows and looking at the flock of pigeons that submerged him.

"Long time no see." Leonard seemed to be picking the right words. His hesitant greeting was almost lost in the sighs of the stars: "Klein? Is that you?"

The man who was about to snap his fingers and leave put down his hand in surprise: "This is a philosophical question. I thought you had already made up your mind not to call me by that name anymore."

Mr. Star stopped attending the regular meetings of the Tarot Club in 457 New Calendar. The other members tacitly ignored the vacant seat. It was not a big problem. At least on the surface, Mr. Fool and his ally, the Goddess of Night, did not make any special explanation for this. In the third month after Mr. Star was absent from the Gray Mist Conference, Miss Traveler wrote to her friend who was the "audience" worriedly: "...Avoiding the most unlikely speculation of the two major churches becoming enemies, I remember that nothing major happened to Backlund recently. What made him do this? You know, not long ago, Mr. Star asked me to help him review his new poems."

Audrey and Pales had similar views. Miss Justice had counseled Leonard many times and accurately grasped the crux of the problem from the patient's vague description. Although the latter no longer had to parasitize Leonard, he had been paying attention to the situation of this troublesome junior. They said that it was better to give time for the person concerned to figure it out.

The sequelae of war fatigue, this strange word was something Leonard heard from the caravan doctors of the Fool Church. These white-robed doctors were like migratory birds chasing disasters. They treated patients for free in mobile clinics in caravans and ran around during the turbulent period after the end of the world. Leonard participated in the campfire parties of the caravan doctors. In the nights of the southern continent, the doctors shared light beer with the residents of nearby villages, singing and laughing around the fire. The bright stars gathered into a silvery-white river in the night sky. The young doctor said that it was the Milky Way, which was also called the Milky River in the myths of the first era. It was actually a huge galaxy very far away from their planet. The journey to the center of the Milky Way was so long that even light would get tired. Leonard held a crude ceramic cup, and the light brown wine reflected the flickering firelight. Can light also get tired? He toasted with the black-haired doctor, who stroked the rim of his glass and replied, "Everyone gets tired, light, mortals, fire, and gods. I have seen too many exhausted patients on my journey. Their bodies may be intact, but their spirits are overwhelmed, like a broken bowstring. We cannot blame people with sick hearts." The deacon was silent for a moment and sighed, "Klein, should I be grateful for your continued consideration? I was still hesitating about the words of repentance, but you had already forgiven me."

What did you do wrong? I'm not here to cause you any trouble today, I just want to see an old friend. The doctor stared at the bonfire calmly. The Lord of Mysteries used a face that Leonard didn't recognize. The firelight illuminated His profile, like a faceless statue surrounded by holy candles in the Fool's Church. That gentle smile was a mask covering that face.

The deacon once stopped at a fool's church for one night while on a mission. The pastor took in many homeless people. Leonard sat in a corner of the hall, listening to the joys and sorrows of the wanderers who lived there, the children laughing, and the mother sobbing silently. Behind the pulpit, the statue watched silently. Leonard lay on the haystack and looked up at the blank faces. He thought of the awakened gods. All the flaws of being human were rewritten and filled by divinity, just like a gem that finally became perfect after experiencing high temperature and grinding. He remembered the sigh of the parasite when he guessed the identity of the "fool" belatedly. The grievance and anger of being deceived had long disappeared. The old friend he cared about finally became the god of universal love, the supreme pillar of the old days. He should be relieved, but he felt a kind of lingering pain on such a sleepless night, as if he had returned to the day when he bathed in the silver moonlight in the blood.

For the next period of time, I was unable to attend the regular gatherings of the Tarot Club, Leonard said to the "doctor", I still believe in the Fool, I still praise Mr. Fool, but I am a little tired.

I understand, He replied.

I still believe in you and miss you, as always. It may sound strange to say this, but I think I don't need to write poetry anymore, so I can take a break, the deacon whispered.

I know, I believe, and I wish you a safe journey.

He watched the butler stand up, bow to him and say goodbye, return the cup to its owner, and quickly disappear into the night in his black windbreaker. He knew that the brave knight would continue to gallop in the starry night and rush to the battlefield fearlessly. He also knew that he had disappointed his loyal friend. He seemed to expect him to say something, but the green eyes finally dimmed in his bland answer.

At that time, His humanity barely retained the strongest part, and more of it was the indifference replaced by divinity. He could not understand such delicate and subtle emotions. Leonard no longer wished to see Klein in the past. He was tired of telling a projection from the past. It was a good thing to abandon this false placebo. It should be so. He still kept one eye on the fearful bishop in the night, and sent the blessing of the paper angel when necessary. This was probably a kind of lazy inertia left by human nature. His thousands of eyes were cast on the ground and the depths of the starry sky. These occasional flashes of emotions were more like a cluster of waves surging on the sea. They were too small in the face of the vast time and space. He had to be careful, like a mortal looking for a unique grain of sand on the beach, to touch that wisp of thought from the billions of sentences and the ever-changing fate echoing in the kingdom of God. Human nature is really wonderful, he thought as he sat on the sofa in Leonard's house. After four centuries, they could sit together peacefully again. The man with red gloves peeked out of the kitchen and asked the guest what he wanted to drink. After a while, he came out with two cups of coffee. "I'll add double milk and sugar to your cup," said the host.

"He" would only wander around the old town of Backlund. This was Leonard's sudden realization when he met an old friend surrounded by pigeons in the square. He was not the only one who felt uncomfortable with this rebuilt city of hope. The boy looked very much like the history student from Tingen, with bright brown eyes and hair sticking out from under the brim of his hat, curling stubbornly. A remnant of the old days, "Roselwen", a lost history, a ghost from a destroyed civilization, Leonard pieced together the last piece of the puzzle in his dream, which explained the source of the deep loneliness that the fortune teller sometimes revealed when he faced "Klein" and "Leonard". The traveler with many secrets would occasionally watch with gloomy eyes. Leonard had seen a flash of anger under that gentle face, and that nameless anger was always burning. He claimed to be the other party's closest friend, but he never realized that his dear friend was a tree with a blazing heart. Leonard, like others, only saw the lush branches and fragrant flowers, praising the tree for its upright beauty and generous shade for pedestrians. It was not until the fire finally burned the source of the fire that he realized how much pain the other party had swallowed. The unspeakable self-blame was the help of Leonard's promotion. He found a new direction in the brief confusion after the revenge ended. He was so eager to do something for the tired traveler. This sincere desire eventually became a heavy shackle, oppressing the believer's chest and making him lost for a time. So after getting the forgiveness of the "Fool", the brave deacon couldn't wait to escape. This was a selfish defection. Leonard faced his past choices honestly. The crime would not be written off because of forgiveness.

To me, this is a legitimate and normal act of self-rescue. If you are really stubborn and insist on going down this path, that would be irresponsible. The boy who was sitting in the garden playing with the big wolf dog retorted helplessly. He stroked the dog skillfully. The ferocious dog lay down obediently under his hands and wagged its tail happily on his knees. What a lovely lady, I didn't expect you to have a dog?

No, just temporarily babysitting for the neighbor, Leonard pinched the boy's collar coldly, it's going to rain, go into the house and say goodbye to the lovely lady.

Mr. Deacon was a little reserved at first. After all, there was no precedent to refer to. How should he treat a god who came to visit his home? But the boy was much more comfortable than the host. After obtaining Leonard's consent, he walked around the house like a cat inspecting a strange territory. Leonard guessed that the other party might have used his authority to steal some of his confusion. He stared at the pompom swinging on the boy's scarf. Compared with the indifferent doctor sitting by the fire, little Moretti was more lively and emotional. At least he didn't feel that he was confessing to the holy image of the Church of Fools. The ghost from the past stood in front of the collection cabinet in the study, revealing a subtle expression of disgust, as if he saw a large poster of the crazy adventurer Wu Hai Legend. The spiritual warning came late. Leonard followed the other party's line of sight and then took a deep breath. I can explain, the youngest senior deacon of the Church of Night said calmly, these are all given to me by my colleagues.

The guests now looked at him with a hint of disdain, and that helpless expression with a smile was very similar to the new fortune teller in Leonard's memory. He had the same expression when he gave up teaching him fortune telling.

I'm glad that you have a friend who is close enough to give you a full set of Mr. Cat dolls as a gift, said Mr. Cat. But I remember that row was all the New Year special editions released by the Church of Fools. Your friend has been giving them to you for so many years. I suggest you treat this friend to a meal.

Such visits continued with the arrival of the rainy season. Leonard began to spend his vacation time waiting. This waiting was not painful. He waited expectantly for his old friend to ring the doorbell with freshly baked bread or a bouquet of flowers with water droplets. They would spend the whole afternoon in the kitchen or study, slowly talking and telling each other about their experiences. Leonard found that he could calmly recall the killing that almost dragged him into the quagmire of losing control. He and the Nighthawks ran in the dense forests and wastelands of the southern continent, fighting with completely crazy enemies. Many believers of the Rose School had degenerated into deformed monsters. He told how he used the giant sickle given by God to kill those squirming pieces of flesh, to tear apart the clusters of turbid eyeballs and festering mouthparts, and to chant the purification spell in the smelly blood that submerged his calves. Historians called the beginning of the Sixth Epoch the "Year of Desolation". It was indeed the darkest and most chaotic era before dawn. The gods who joined forces to resist the Outer Gods fell into a deep sleep and could only cast their gazes briefly to respond to the prayers of their believers. Leonard had lost five deputies. Casualties were always inevitable. He was forced to learn all kinds of eulogies at funerals and send his familiar or unfamiliar comrades to the grave. Those romantic young people who chanted poems would smile and read letters from afar during their short rest time. In the end, they did not come back.

But in every prayer you only say "I'm fine" and "We are marching towards victory". You never say these words of asking for help, but you are clearly drowning.

Klein tried to reach out his hand and received silent consent. He traced the green man's smooth forehead, and a thousand thoughts fluttered behind those beautiful green eyes. After being apart for so long, the other person had become a stranger, a mature and stable person that he had not carefully observed. But occasionally, the gaze that stared at him would reveal clues, as if waiting for Klein to leave, or expecting Klein to hug him, with a contradictory tenderness like a teenager. He had to carefully discern the other person's unfinished words.

Leonard would often ask about his experience. Have you heard of the Fairy Godmother? Klein—the Butler of the Night found that he could call him that calmly—told him about the role he played: the Tentacle Godfather of the descendants of the Moretti family. The first ceremony that the descendants who chose to step into the extraordinary world must perform is to pray to the "Fool". He is a part of the family tree, the "Guardian of the Moretti Family". Every child who summons him is taught by the elders, don't be afraid, go and shake his hand.

Alice Moretti was also a child he watched grow up. Klein always felt that she was still the baby who could be gently held in his arms, with soft skin and hair. She cried stubbornly, and he had to use his tentacles to rock her crib so that the baby could sleep all night. Now the girl who called him "Uncle Klein" was very old. Strangers on the road would think they were a grandparents. Even with the transformation of the body by the magic potion, the lifespan of the Beyonder who failed to become a demigod was limited.

I know she has always felt guilty for not getting married.

Why? Leonard asked subconsciously.

Klein smiled, but the faint smile quickly melted away because she felt responsible for me. She had an obligation to accompany me, care for me, and protect my humanity. She was the last Moretti in the world. Once she left, the family would come to an end. I thought that the child told you everything during your second visit to the nursing home, didn't you?

Is this out of concern or a test? The lady asked with a smile when she received the butler of the night for the second time, without any blame in her tone. The patient seemed to have expected his visit again, and tactfully sent Klein out. I don't think you need to worry about whether the timing of our appearance is too subtle. It was Klein who rescued your subordinate, and he was stranded in Backlund only because of me. My body no longer allows me to continue traveling.

He often wandered around the city. Leonard solved a mystery. Perhaps he just wanted to escape. Klein just didn't want to stay in this ward while Alice was sleeping. It was too painful to watch his relatives' lives gradually pass away. He waited for that moment to come in the infinitely stretched countdown. Does this mean that the other party's humanity has recovered more abundantly than he imagined? But he couldn't feel happy for his old friend. It was always like this when you establish a connection with people. The more joy you get from it, the more pain you have to pay when you say goodbye. Alice asked him to help take care of the boy. He was too reserved and would not speak his mind honestly. That doting tone was not what a mortal said to the gods he believed in. Leonard thought with some sadness that they loved Klein sincerely. Regardless of whether the soul in this body belonged to an old one, to the members of the Moretti family, he was just a mysterious and reliable relative.

He once mentioned you, and it was said that you were friends, but you didn't meet again after he did some stupid things. Alice blinked, "Mr. Mitchell, are you still angry with him?"

The butler was stunned, and after a moment he lowered his eyes.

I don't understand, if you ask him for anything, he can do it...but why?

——Even if the real him is still sleeping in a nebula at the end of the universe, the remaining part of his humanity is like the gold sand settled in the riverbed, small, subtle, and always bright. If the "Lord of Mysteries" only wants to completely control this "anchor", there are ten thousand ways to control his blood relatives in the past, and he can cultivate several angels and demigods without wasting much power. He can directly fool his descendants instead of investing his humanity into an avatar, spending hundreds of years playing the role of a fairy godfather and spending trivial and ordinary time with those children. As Melissa Moretti emphasized in the notes left to his descendants, asking the heirs to swear not to ask for him greedily, Klein also abides by his bottom line and never interferes with the life path chosen by his descendants. Even though he can foresee that the results of those choices are not all correct, Klein still patiently plays the role of a family member, repeating the process of meeting and losing over and over again.

And now, the last Moretti is about to say goodbye to Him.

Leonard did not enter the ward. He did not want to disturb them at this time. The Fearful Bishop sat on the bench outside the door, listening to Alice's heartbeat on the other side of the wall. The Red Gloves, who brought endless terror to the enemy, felt a certain fear at this moment. He heard the woman's difficult breathing. Klein opened the window so that Alice could see the scenery of Backlund in late spring. The woman complained intermittently that she did not want to stay in a sealed room like a box at the last moment, which would hinder her steps towards the Godfather's kingdom of God.

Klein sat by the bed, gently hugging Alice's shoulders, just like he had rocked her when she was a baby. The old man was as light as a feather, a piece of letter, with tight, dry skin wrapped around his bones. The pair of brown eyes looked at him, and the woman whispered, "Dear, I want to tell you a secret, a secret that Melissa's ancestors didn't tell you."

Klein nodded. The child he was caring for held his hand, and the words finally came out of her dry throat.

"They have already forgiven you, twice."

Forgive you for being forced to replace their real younger brother and elder brother, and forgive you for once again causing them to lose their best relatives in order to bear that heavy and glorious fate.

Leonard heard a small sound similar to breaking glass. When he walked into the room, the patient was already asleep in Klein's arms. The most courageous butler was at a loss. Klein did not cry. It was over. He said, I will take little Alice back to Bayam. She said she liked the sunshine there.

Will you come back, Leonard asked finally.

It should be possible, He looked at him with those dull brown eyes, there are some follow-up matters, goodbye.

After a snap of his fingers, Leonard was the only one left in the ward. He looked at the neat bed and floor. Everything that happened here seemed like a ridiculous dream. The wind blew in, carrying the smell of rain. The deacon stood there for a long time, walked out of the room, left the Cross Sanatorium, and took the ferry back to the North Port in the rain. He had never felt so clear-headed before, which made him feel the heartache again clearly after several centuries. Perhaps this is the so-called privilege of human nature. If having human nature means having empathy for all pain, why do gods and angels have to rely on such bitter things to maintain their sanity? Whether to love means a destined separation, he once asked his friend in a casual conversation. The boy-like god tilted his head and said, "I can't answer your question. The result-oriented and process-oriented people have their own opinions. If you want to ask whether it is worth it, it depends on how much you are willing to pay for the relationship you want."

Even if separation is inevitable in the end?

He thought, now he knew Crane's answer.

In the week when spring completely ended, the "Goddess's Scythe" of the Church of Evernight was forced to work overtime. This was all because of a new type of mushroom developed by those bastards of the Church of Earth. Their amazing hydrophilicity caused the mushrooms to multiply wildly and burst the fence of the experimental site, and completely occupied the waters downstream of Backlund overnight. The Church of Evernight dispatched personnel to help with the aftermath. Leonard felt a headache when he thought of the mushrooms that would emit indescribable shrill screams when they were fished out. His vacation was naturally ruined. He didn't know if the trip to Bayam could be scheduled before the end of summer.

On his way home, Mr. Deacon bought a bag of donuts on impulse. His spiritual intuition was triggered when he opened the door. A Mr. Cat wearing a top hat was happily playing the trumpet in his hand on the carpet in the entrance hall. A bored god fooled the rules of the machine. Leonard's collection of dolls were patrolling and playing in the house. He carefully avoided a parading cat band, took a few steps to the sofa, and ruffled the hair of the uninvited guest. Klein collapsed on the sofa, squinting his eyes in a good temper. I came here to deal with her inheritance. Alice had planned to donate most of her property to the Backlund Poor Children's Education Foundation. By the way, I came to visit you. It is said that the City of Hope was recently conquered by the mushroom tide?

Don't gloat over other people's misfortune, Leonard put the donut in Klein's arms and sat down beside him without any image, with his long legs resting on the coffee table. "By the way, dear Mr. Fool, I'm applying to return to the Tarot Club."

He looked at him gently with his brown eyes, and the god who was once lost among the dead stars said, "Okay, but you have to treat me to another meal."

*Excerpted from the New Testament of the Bible. 1 Corinthians