In the side palace, Hathaway knelt in front of the silver mirror, gently combing her long hair.
Beside her, in the simple hourglass, the fine white sand was slowly flowing, and on the stone wall nearby, there were nurous distinct marks.
These were the marks of ti recorded by the Golden Elves. It had been twenty-nine days since she was confined here.
During this nearly month-long period, she initially succumbed to despair, gave in to hopelessness, and even contemplated suicide, considering ending her own life.
But, after several fruitless attempts, when she lay on the cold ground, feeling the overwhelming sense of powerless rising from her limbs and bones—
It was only then, after the upheaval of the Council eting, that Hathaway truly cald down for the first ti.
Her desperate attempts over the past month to abandon herself, her frantic intentions to end her own life—
Upon closer thought, this was not as she imagined, wanting to help Shiayar break free from his bonds, the so-called redemption.
It was simply dragging down, disappointing all he had done for her.
Teacher Shaar wasn’t ignorant of the secrets and potential dangers lurking on the Lost Island.
Yet, for her, he had co willingly, trying to negotiate with the ancient deity that slept within.
Whereas she, previously, had pathetically given in to despair, pathetically relinquished the opportunity for life that Shiayar had fought so hard to secure for her.
If Shiayar viewed her despondency through the shadowed veil, he would only feel heartache—
Or perhaps, regret.
Regret that he had misjudged her.
Regret that he had dedicated everything and his sincere heart for a Golden Elf who did not value life.
So, at the very least during this ti—
No matter how much sadness lay within her heart, no matter how piercing the pain, no matter the regret that tempted her to give up... Yet in front of Shiayar, she had to present an optimistic facade.
She didn’t know when Shiayar would view her through that veil—
Therefore, she forced herself, at all tis, to remain calm and to wear a smile.
Hathaway washed away the dust that had settled on her golden hair with clear water, her unadorned, straight hair cascading like a waterfall onto the soft bed.
Then, she changed into a black knee-length dress.
A black satin ribbon adorned her waist, and her shoulders were embroidered with delicate lace.
The clothes of the Golden Elves used to be pure white, due to the lack of materials on the Lost Island and insufficient dyes, most elves wore white, a tradition even the elders followed.
Yet in that little dwelling drifting in the Astral Realm, Shiayar ntioned that perhaps, instead of white, black suited her better.
After that, aside from her studies of Arcane Arts and Magic, Hathaway secretly visited Jayee to explore the fashion magazines and clothing combinations stored in Jayee’s database.
Within Jayee’s database, those stylish and fashionable outfits dazzled Hathaway, who had lived on the Lost Island all along.
This was the Lost Island, beyond the Endless Ocean Domain...
Was this colorful and vibrant scenery what she had only heard of in ancient texts and from her elders, known as the "Western Continent"?
Looking at those splendid and dazzling materials in Jayee’s database, the vibrant and unapologetically fashionable and beautiful young models in those recorded pictures—
Hathaway felt sowhat like a poor girl from a backwater village, slightly ashad as she gazed at the colorful world.
Yet, the love of beauty is inherent in all, and even a Golden Elf of Legendary Rank is no exception.
Afterward, Hathaway spent a few weeks following the fashion magazines in Jayee’s database, customizing a black outfit for herself.
She thought this set of clothes had been lost amidst the Council’s prior upheaval, but unexpectedly, Shiayar managed to preserve it and sent it to her confinent in the side palace.
Hathaway changed into the clothes, carefully examining herself in the mirror.
"Looks nice."
A familiar voice sounded in Hathaway’s ear.
The Golden Elf turned around in surprise, seeing that the dark curtain at the entrance of the side palace had silently disappeared at so unknown ti.
The black-haired, black-eyed human boy stood calmly beside her, looking at the silver mirror.
"Shiayar, why are you here?"
Such an unexpected scene left Hathaway montarily confused.
"That fellow... does He no longer stop us from eting?"
"Even a prisoner sentenced to death is comforted with a few kind words before execution and allowed a last al..."
"Even if those comforting words and that al are not initially out of so-called humanitarianism... they’re simply ant to placate the condemned, ensuring they don’t cause trouble, and to spare the executioners and jailers so hassle."
Shiayar smiled slightly.
"In His eyes, I am no different from those about to tread the path to execution."
"Before that, by fulfilling so of my small wishes, alleviating so of my regrets... I can suppress the survival instincts, cease resisting, and relinquish my body to Him, allowing the takeover and fusion to complete smoothly."
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