Her mother had blad her too.
Monster, sinner.
Words like these, even coming from her mother’s lips, still carried a hint of tenderness.
But tenderness was bone-chillingly cold, each instance piercing into her heart.
At first, she would cry, crying and wanting to cling to her mother’s legs. She was really scared, scared of her mother’s distressed and crazed deanor.
But her mother would only push her away with disgust, then cry and tell her to go find that man.
Later on, she learned to behave.
She neither cried nor made a fuss, just stood quietly, waiting for her mother to calm down.
So she thought, perhaps her mother didn’t like her either.
"Arnold Simmons, do you like ?" She circled back to that difficult question she had asked many tis.
Arnold Simmons smiled, patiently and seriously answering her, "I like you, very much."
"How long will you like ?" She blinked, her hands clinging to Arnold Simmons’s arm, like a cat wagging its tail.
Her eyes round, her head also round, fluffy, innocent, and well-behaved, yet sowhat haughty.
She was waiting for Arnold Simmons’s response.
"I’ll like you until..." At a critical mont, Arnold Simmons paused, lowered his head to et Hannah’s gaze, saw the urging in her eyes, then spoke deeply, "Until the mont my life ends."
No one knows how far away forever is.
So, let love you until the mont my life ends.
As his words fell, Hannah stared fixedly at him, and after a mont, she laughed and threw herself into his arms.
A petite person, yet not lacking in strength.
Arnold Simmons was caught off guard, his body tipping backward, but he managed to steady himself with his hands just in ti.
Hannah, seemingly unaware, buried her head into his chest and rubbed against it, then lifted her fluffy head to look at him, and lightly kissed his chin, "Arnold Simmons, what do you say I marry you?"
Marry?
Arnold Simmons was montarily stunned.
He rembered the jokes made by the group of wanderers on daily basis.
In the eyes of Sixth Hoffman and his group, as their leader, Hannah was naturally extraordinary, which also extended to the notion of her future husband—one was too few, two not enough, three barely sufficient, the more the better.
They were all rugged n, with straightforward ideas.
Arnold Simmons couldn’t help but smile, his beautiful eyes becoming especially captivating in that mont.
Hannah was srized, unable to resist reaching out to touch them, "Arnold Simmons, I really like your eyes."
Now she seed like the little witch from Brie again.
Innocent, spontaneous, passionate, her eyes clear as if they could see right into one’s soul.
"Do you like them that much?" Arnold Simmons stretched out a hand, encircled Hannah’s waist, and steadied her.
At this mont, Hannah straightened up, looking down on Arnold Simmons from above, the difference in height easily giving the illusion of being favored.
Her gaze was straightforward, unshielded, "I like them very much, since the first ti I saw them."
It was the sa when she was a child and the sa as she grew up.
Not just because of those eyes, but also because of the soul they harbored.
That was Arnold Simmons.
The person she liked the most in her life.
Arnold Simmons propped himself up and leaned in, just like before, lifting his head to expose his vulnerable neck, like a dangerous beast willingly submitting at that mont.
His eyes and brows drooping, revealing compliance.
Hannah watched for a while, finally unable to resist reaching out to touch the corner of his eyes, then leaning in, obediently said to him, "Arnold Simmons, would you close your eyes, please?"
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