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"Wow, is this for real?"
Passing through the black door and walking along the cave passage, I ca across stairs leading underground. Opening the door at the end of the stairs, I could only mutter in astonishnt.
"The museum really followed here?"
Inside the museum.
The space resembled the strange museum in Jongno that I rembered.
Even the appearance of the walls and ceiling.
And the central rock sofa where I sit and fall asleep every day remained the sa.
Am I still not awake from my sleep?
Am I still dreaming after falling back asleep following my dawn conversation with Youngju? It doesn't make sense, does it?
The grand sound of music.
The beautiful flower paintings that adorn the walls and ceiling.
Little Lea, five years old, gazes at the ceiling, her mouth agape at the sight she's seeing for the first ti in her life.
She almost fell backward while craning her neck, but I barely caught her.
"Woah! Lea, be careful. Stay safely in my arms."
"."
Lea wildly looks around, taking in the paintings. Her face shows wonder and amazent. Clearly, this is her first visit here too. So, the hypothesis that both Jongno and this place had museums is false. There's only one answer. The museum is following .
"What on earth."
Why? Why is it following ?
Thinking about it won't yield an answer.
For now, I take Lea to the central rock sofa.
If this were Jongno, I'd have sat her next to , but this place is unfamiliar. Since I can't predict what might happen, I put Leah on my lap, ready to run out if necessary.
Out of curiosity, I checked my phone.
"As expected, no signal."
This was the sa in the Jongno museum. Whether it's because it's underground or sothing else is blocking it, cellphones don't work well inside the museum. This ans it's hard to call for help in an ergency. Should we just leave? I feel uneasy.
Then, Lea shouts triumphantly.
"Wow!"
What is it? The main wall Lea is looking at.
A new painting is being projected there.
'Woman with a Parasol.'
One of Monet's masterpieces.
Just looking at it fills one with happiness.
In the painting, the woman holding the parasol is his wife, Camille. The child standing behind her is their eldest son.
Lea seems to really like the painting, smiling broadly.
Yes, even to a child, this painting seems happy.
But I know.
The kind of life Monet, who painted such happy scenes, lived.
He was not a man who could be called happy.
But in all his paintings, there is happiness.
Did he yearn for happiness amidst unhappiness?
Or did he long for the happy tis?
I don't know the answer.
But I do know how great a person is who finds happiness in unhappiness.
Because I couldn't do that.
I adjust Lea sitting on my lap and say,
"Lea, this is a painting by Claude Monet, drawn in 1875. It's currently in the possession of the National Gallery of Washington."
""
Ah, she can't understand.
I laugh awkwardly and keep an eye on the surroundings of the museum again.
An empty museum. The only things heard are music, and the only things seen are paintings.
'Co to think of it, this is the first ti I've co to the museum with soone else.'
Just then, an overwhelming sleepiness starts pouring in.
"No, this can't be happening. This place might be dangerous."
I try to open my mouth to wake myself up, but it's no use. This can't be happening! It's not just here.
If Lea gets into trouble, I can't face Sophia and Monica. It would be a major hindrance to Monica's business, which plans to use this town as a base for her factory.
'No... It can't be...'
But the heaviest eyelids in the world, pressed down by soone, were not sothing I could control. I slumped over with Lea still in my arms.
**
'Damn it! In the end!'
At the end of a dizzying sensation.
Anxious and unable to adapt to my surroundings in ti, I opened my eyes wide, trying to grasp the spinning environnt around . Had I beco sowhat familiar with the buildings structure after a few visits? This is France, after all.
For soone who had only seen giant mansions or large houses with gardens where nobles lived, the sight of closely packed houses was new to . They were very close together, almost touching, giving off a feeling of poverty.
Tap, tap.
Huh? What's this feeling? Sothing is hitting my leg. Is it a dog? No way, can people see this ti too?
As I reflexively looked down, my eyes nearly popped out.
Le, Lea?
A little angel baby was looking up at . Could it be that Lea was also dragged into this dream? Then Lea spoke.
Yeah, Ban. Where is this?
..?
Hmm?
Lea? You understand ?
Lea looked up at and said.
Since you're speaking our language now. Didnt you always know it?
..
But why havent you spoken until now?
What is this situation?
Let's think for a mont.
Right, when I first fell into this dream, I didnt know Czech or French, but I could understand and converse with people.
With a puzzled face, I glanced at Lea, who was looking at , and nodded.
In dreams, conversation flows.
The problem is whether this is just a dream based on my imagination or if Lea is really dreaming with .
First, I should get Lea out of this dangerous street where even carriages pass through.
I quickly picked up Lea and went to the front of a house by the roadside. It was a house with a door two steps up, and I sat down on those steps, making eye contact with Lea.
Lea.
Yes?
The museum we entered together. Was it originally here?
A museum?
Yes, rember we went into the forest together, bought tickets and entered?
A museum, whats that?
..
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