Just like no one can control her.
The fear is that the silly Pouting Siren is deceived by soone who only covets her innocent face and devilish figure.
The Pouting Siren should always be that radiant and dazzling self.
The world only sees her willfulness and recklessness.
Only those who truly get close know that Artie’s sun-like passionate nature can dispel all shadows from the soul.
Artie praises everyone she likes, praising them until they "realize" that they are the most special, the most beautiful existence in the world.
Even if you think you are terrible, even if you believe you are not worthy of all the warmth in the world, Artie can still make you feel confident about life.
Artie is the sun, she is not ant to be confined; she should be let out, to illuminate the world.
Most of Sumr Fairmont’s hostility towards Sean Lowell stems from the initial eting in the restaurant, that feeling of not being able to see through his true intentions at a glance.
Perhaps, out of a survival instinct, having grown up in the darkness of the mundane world, Sumr Fairmont was accustod early on to catching the micro-expressions of people who ca too close.
But if Sean Lowell’s actions just now were all due to being out of his control because of a high fever.
It would beco a reason Sumr Fairmont could quite accept.
Sumr Fairmont looked at Sean Lowell again.
Feeling Sumr Fairmont’s gaze, Sean Lowell apologized sincerely once more:
"Miss Sumr Fairmont, I apologize for my behavior in the restaurant."
"I have a sister, her na is Sumr Lowell."
"Little Sumr was taken away by my mother when she was three years old, and she never returned. My mother, her surna is Fairmont."
"Fairmont, a rare surna, Sumr, a pleasant na Sumr."
"Just because of this, I assud that the Sumr Fairmont ntioned by the Wine Winters Ambassador over the phone was my sister."
Sean Lowell seed to subconsciously start touching the necklace made of a heart-shaped button hanging on his neck:
"This isn’t the first ti Gordon Sterling advised not to beco obsessed because of a na, yet I sohow can’t escape that vicious cycle of crashing into a wall without a turn back."
"It was probably due to this obsession that I said you look like my mother while I was confused."
"Please forgive my recklessness."
"Actually, nearly two decades have passed, and I can no longer rember what my mother looked like."
Sumr Fairmont didn’t respond.
"To express my apology, before the Lowe-Fairmont Tipples release the day after tomorrow, I would still like to organize a live stream dedicated to Miss Sumr Fairmont’s Whiskey, hosted by Gordon Sterling. At that ti, I will need your help to provide with so detailed information." Sean Lowell’s apology began to enter a stage of practical significance.
Sumr Fairmont still didn’t speak but walked directly to Sean Lowell’s side, leaning in to look at the "pendant" in Sean Lowell’s hand.
A faint glimr of light appeared again in Sean Lowell’s eyes.
Faintly, subtly, yet with a sign of a spark that could ignite a prairie fire.
Sean Lowell pressed on:
"This heart-shaped button was taken from Little Sumr’s favorite toy; Little Sumr said she would give a necklace made entirely of gold when she had money."
"When Little Sumr gave this necklace, she was full of reluctance."
"She told to take good care of it and said when she could afford gifts, to rember to give her the heart from her most beloved doll back."
All hopes end with Sumr Fairmont’s succinct response: "No doll."
Three seconds later, Sumr Fairmont gave a three-word reply.
She never had a doll; this was Sumr Fairmont’s response to Sean Lowell’s two apologies.
Sean Lowell didn’t grasp Sumr Fairmont’s minimalist way of speaking; he might have heard "no doll" as "beautiful doll."
It’s more likely that the lingering high fever affected Sean Lowell’s judgnt.
Sean Lowell continued reminiscing about his pleasant childhood: "Little Sumr was so naive; she told on her third birthday, ’Brother, Sumr has no money, so I made a birthday necklace for you’."
The tone of a three-year-old saying sothing cute sounded quite strange coming from Master Sean Lowell’s mouth, but Sean Lowell seed completely unaware:
"Such a tiny little girl thought birthday gifts were to be given by the birthday person, and only after giving a gift could she eat cake. Isn’t she especially adorable?"
Sean Lowell looked at Sumr Fairmont with an expectation that was almost ablaze, a gaze that once again made Sumr Fairmont very uncomfortable.
She didn’t find anything, anyone, or any story in Sean Lowell’s words that could be called cute even for a little bit.
Why does an individual want to recall the past?
What is there to recall about one’s youth?
Three years old? Birthday? Gifts?
What could a three-year-old rember?
If possible, Sumr Fairmont wished her mory could start from her independence at thirteen.
If that’s the case, perhaps she could have possessed a sliver of inner light even before Artie was around to shine on her.
Even if it was once owned, isn’t it also a kind of happiness?
Unfortunately, Sumr Fairmont’s mories began at four.
Began in a room with a door that wouldn’t open and a dead woman.
From having response, to having no response.
From having warmth, to having no warmth.
From a glimr of light seeping through a crack, to complete darkness.
It is real death, not the deadness from heat, thirst, or anger.
A whole six hours, as long as six centuries.
That dead woman seed to be her mother; Sumr Fairmont vividly rembers her own hysterical cries, but she does not rember what exactly she cried out.
That was endless darkness, darkening from reality to the depths of the soul.
No one would willingly want to have such a mory.
Even less would anyone wish to be reminded constantly.
The light in Sean Lowell’s eyes, bright enough to start a prairie fire, deeply wounded Sumr Fairmont.
She had stated clearly that she never had a doll.
She grew up in a childhood unworthy of having dolls; why would anyone try to force her to reminisce about the past?
Ha ha.
Fairmont.
A rare surna.
Ha ha.
Sumr.
A pleasant na.
Unfortunately, she, Somr Diwu, a girl with a German na, grew up in a declining whiskey family.
Somr Diwu and Sumr Fairmont share only one connection—
Artie thinks this translation sounds good.
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