"Many people have said the sa thing to . Is that what you’re trying to say too?"
Wayne Lane remained silent.
Hannah didn’t mind, "To be given life... it’s a blessing of this world, so I am grateful to those who brought here. But if all that I see and experience is akin to hell, what then?"
There will always be people who go their entire lives without a glimpse of the sun.
Walking through mories shrouded in darkness, a person can co to terms with themselves, but no one else is qualified to teach them how to do so.
You are just yourself.
Pain that cannot be understood should not be judged.
Wayne Lane paused for a mont and finally spoke again, "The man has already been taken care of by ; no one else will know about today’s incident."
"Thank you." Hannah looked at him, her tone distant. As they passed by each other, she spoke again, "Wayne Lane, I already died once, a hundred years ago."
Even if there was anything left, she had settled all debts.
This life, from that mont a hundred years ago, belonged solely to her.
Hannah entered the palace alone, with Arnold Simmons standing guard outside.
Wayne Lane looked at him and let out a wry laugh, "Hannah, she..."
Inside the palace.
Hannah walked forward step by step. She did not deliberately soften her footsteps, so in the empty palace at night, they were particularly clear.
On the bed, the king, tornted by nightmares for nearly half a month, had lost his original vigor and was sickly. Hearing the footsteps, he mistook them for that of a servant and didn’t bother to get up.
"Where is the queen? Hurry up and have her co back. How unseemly it is for her to weep and wail in the court all day long!"
He spoke with feigned authority and anger, but was imdiately overtaken by a fit of coughing.
Spirits from his dreams haunted him like shadows, giving him no peace even in daylight. Now the king didn’t dare to fall asleep, forcing himself to stay alert.
He was never a man of strong will, and without the scepter of a king, he was no different from an ordinary person.
"Why don’t you answer?"
Losing his patience, he turned around to reprimand the intruder. Upon seeing the person under the light, his eyes widened in terror, "It’s... it’s you!"
His speech was already faltering.
Hannah approached, stepping out of the light. The slight smile on her face was like solidified ice, devoid of any warmth, as the cold wind continuously blew against people, "It’s been a long ti, Your Majesty."
After the age of five, she no longer called him father.
To those who were close, she referred to him simply as "that man," and within the royal family, only as "Your Majesty."
If she really had to say those two words, it would be suffocating.
Seeing Hannah, the king seed to see the evil spirits from his dreams coming to claim his life, his body trembling uncontrollably. He realized sothing, "It’s you, you’ve been influencing with your ntal power!"
Indeed, those nightmares and illusions that had been occurring day after day couldn’t have been simply caused by restlessness.
ntal power can influence thoughts and dreams when one’s consciousness is at its weakest.
But few people are capable of doing so.
And Hannah had the strength to do it.
The king beca more panicked but tried to feign composure, shouting towards the outside, "Guards, guards! Seize this traitor at once!"
Hannah’s expression remained unchanged, with a slight smile, "You’re really naive. Keep calling, see how many of your cherished guards will co to your aid."
She spoke casually and naturally, even taking the idle interest in observing the dreamling flowers outside the window.
The beloved treasure of the queen, which once withered away a hundred years ago.
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