The mistress was coming on this cold afternoon.
The sound of the pencil sweeping across the paper rustled as varying lines, as if with lives of their own, extended and connected across the page, gradually forming a shape. Richard was fully imrsed in this "welcoming" mont, while a sense of reassurance and anticipation slowly filled his entire mind.
Unconsciously, the cold faded away, and that inexplicable emptiness that had recently been appearing from ti to ti also vanished. A smile erged on his face, and the only thought, the only image left in his mind: she was about to arrive.
That beautiful lady, that mistress he had never t before, he revered her and joyfully anticipated her visit... Would the mistress like this place? Would she appreciate his arrangents? Would she show a smile and praise the loyalty of the doll?
The pencil swept lightly across the white paper, and the gentle gaze of the mistress ca through from the paper, smilingly watching him.
Excitent surged, yet Richard’s hands were steadier and faster than ever—he did not even rember when he had gained such high drawing skills, capable of sketching these wonderful lines so quickly. Eventually, he even picked up a pencil with his left hand, and as both hands swiftly moved, they almost seed to leave afterimages...
However, footsteps suddenly ca from the direction of the corridor, thudding rapidly as if mimicking a heartbeat, bringing an annoying disturbance.
"They are here for you, dear doll..."
That fine voice in his mind blew past like the wind, carrying an indistinct noise.
That annoying, familiar cold sensation ca again; Richard felt irritation rising within him. Soone was coming to disturb him, to interrupt the mont he was to et the mistress. They were almost at the door—and he had not yet finished drawing.
He quickened his pace once more, his hands dancing across the paper while the disturbing footsteps arrived earlier than anticipated.
The footsteps stopped at the door before almost instantly, soone knocked on the door.
The pounding knocks as if striking directly on the heart, echoed in this small room—initially moderate, but they quickly turned more urgent.
"Richard, are you in there?" A voice from outside ca in, sounding sowhat nervously polite, "The Saints have convened a eting, they want everyone in the assembly hall."
"Don’t go, it’s a trap."
Richard heard an instantaneous warning in his mind; he couldn’t discern whether it was Rabi’s voice or his own thoughts—he naturally ignored the voice at the door and continued to imrse himself completely in his drawing.
The silence inside the room led to an even more rapid sequence of knocks, bang bang bang, which quickly ca from the door as soone forcefully knocked while raising their voice, "Richard, we know you’re in there, this eting is important, you can’t still be sleeping!"
Almost there, almost there.
Richard’s brow furrowed tightly, his arms trembling as if in spasms. The mistress blinked at him, her eyes lively and vibrant within the black and white lines of the drawing.
But still, it was not enough; he had the most important strokes yet to complete...
The knocking suddenly stopped, and after a short pause, there was a forceful crash.
"Bang—clang!"
The flimsy wooden door was violently smashed open, Richard’s movents stiffened for that instant—and it was during that brief mont that soone rushed into the room and an Abyssal Hound leaped from mid-air, pinning him directly to the ground.
Did he place the last stroke in the right spot?
Richard struggled to raise his head for a look, but the strength of the Abyssal Hound pinned him down completely. He could only support himself on his arms, while a hoarse, strange grunt and low growl ca from his throat, only letting rage fill his mind—
He detested the Abyssal Hound, he loathed this rough and fierce creature.
Soone grabbed his arm and quickly tied it with a rope, then another person gagged him to prevent him from using the power of spells—the people who broke into the room pulled Richard up from the ground, snatched away his pencil, and roughly dragged him towards the door.
Richard, in the mont of leaving the room, gave up resisting. His thoughts seed to break, and his mind felt stuffed with cotton, his head muzzy as he was carried by a few "brethren," silently walking down the corridor.
"Wait," one of the Heretics holding Richard’s arm suddenly stopped and looked up at the other walking nearby, "What was he doing when we burst into the room just now?"
"It seed like he was drawing," another Heretic frowned in recollection, "There was a large sheet of paper spread on the bed, but I didn’t see what he was drawing."
"...Sothing is not right, I’ll go check it out."
The first Heretic quickly said, then turned around and ran back to the room they had just left. He stepped over the broken wooden door, quickly reached Richard’s bed, and looked at the large sheet of paper laid out on the mattress.
It was just a blank sheet of paper.
The heretic furrowed his brow, feeling an inexplicable unease. Driven by this unease, he quickly looked around the room—but found nothing.
The heretic let out a muffled grunt. Then, out of caution, he bent over to pick up a piece of white paper, hastily rolled it up, and stuffed it into his jacket as he returned to the hallway.
"It’s just a piece of white paper," he said to the others waiting in the hallway. "Let’s go."
A piece of white paper.
Richard, his movent restricted and shoulders held by his "brethren," slowly raised his head, his gaze puzzled as he looked at the blank scroll displayed in the hands of a vaguely familiar figure opposite him. After staring blankly for a while, a faint smile finally appeared on his face.
However, no one noticed his smile.
The sound of disordered footsteps faded down the hallway.
More footsteps soon echoed in other parts of the ship.
The heretics, following the instructions of the saints, were now in motion. These clergy mbers hurriedly moved through the long, dim corridors with a list they had just compiled, knocking on door after door, taking away every "brethren" who had ever entered the Dream of the Naless.
A tense atmosphere began to spread throughout the ship. So noticed the unusual situation, others realized that the ship had stopped sailing. Those not taken away quietly gathered in their rooms, nervously discussing and guessing what had happened, while those who were taken had gradually arrived at the assembly hall.
The saint stood montarily bewildered on the high platform in the center of the hall. Long-term scrutiny of fate had left his mind weary. He suddenly found himself missing the past, longing for the ti when he still possessed a human body—even though that body was frail and sullied, at least then he could comfortably lie in a bed, without constant elusive whispers and chaotic roars in his head.
In this confusion, he sank down, mories slowly weaving a misty veil. In the depths of the veil, it seed as if eternal peace was beckoning him.
That "peace" was a towering shadow engulfed in dim green flas.
The saint suddenly awoke from this forewarning from fate, every nerve and blood vessel twinging with a burning pain.
"Your Excellency the Saint," a voice ca from beside him, a senior clergy mber was reporting to him, "All the people you asked for have been brought here."
The saint raised his eyestalks and surveyed the gathered cultists in the hall, their expressions either frightened or vacant.
A thick shadow enveloped the entire hall.
The gloom of fate obscured his entire sight.
"Intruders aboard!"
...
After everyone had left, a subtle current of air appeared in Richard’s room—suddenly, a figure abruptly appeared next to the bed.
It was as if a "picture" originally lying flat on a surface suddenly "flipped" and "stood up"—Lucricia’s figure erged from the air.
She had been standing right in front of that heretic before, the closest distance being no more than half a ter—except she was sideways.
A picture has no thickness, and eyes in three-dinsional space cannot see an "image" parallel to their line of sight.
Lucricia sighed softly, looked at her hands, then casually picked up a pencil tossed nearby and sketched a few lines on her palm.
Then she waved her hand, and her "thin" figure transford from a two-dinsional image to a normal physical body.
She turned to look at the empty floor. "Rabi, I know you’re in the room."
Almost as soon as her words fell, a sharp, child-like voice abruptly resonated in the room. "Eeee! The mistress is here! Rabi is coming out!"
Accompanied by this sharp and naïve voice, countless white fluffs abruptly appeared in every corner of the room!
From the shadows in the corners, the gaps in the furniture, the holes in the roof, to the cracks in the floor, uncountable cotton fluffs sward out from every possible hiding spot for fibers, as if the room itself was fervently expelling foreign objects. The fluffs instantly filled Lucricia’s vision, then swiftly gathered in the center of the room and gradually ford the shape of a rabbit without "skin," entirely made of cotton balls.
Then, this ball of cotton shaped like a rabbit began to "flip" inside out; colorful fabrics erged from its belly, quickly enveloping it, transforming into a large, eerily designed rabbit doll.
The terrifying doll wobbled in place for a mont, then joyously lunged at Lucricia. "Rabi is here, Rabi is here! Welco, welco, warmly..."
"Shut up," Lucricia casually caught the rabbit mid-air, her tone icy. "Keep quiet."
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