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Join the ServerAs time flowed by, the moon set and the sun rose. The sky outside the window brightened, and the morning light streamed through, falling upon Lucia’s face and gently rousing her.
Lucia had already reverted to her tiny form. She woke up as usual, accustomed to a sense of bewilderment.
Yet, a lingering hangover made her particularly disoriented this morning.
‘Who am I? Where am I? What happened to me?’
‘Why is Betty Lane still lying in my bed?’
‘And why is Betty Lane holding me?’
Lucia felt a surge of confusion, a creeping sense of dread. She glanced down at her clothing.
‘Why are my clothes off?’ (They had loosened as she shrank from her larger form.)
‘Why are there tears in my clothes?’ (They had ripped when she expanded.)
Her ominous premonition intensified. Just then, she spotted a pair of white underwear lying on the distant floor, split open and seemingly torn apart by force.
The familiar fabric, the familiar style—it was just like the pair she had been wearing.
At this realization, Lucia’s confusion finally gave way to shock. She stared, wide-eyed, at the damaged white underwear.
Her adorable face turned utterly pale. Slowly, she extended a trembling hand beneath her skirt.
It met empty air.
‘That’s my underwear!’
Tears welled in Lucia’s eyes. She glared at the sole suspect in the entire room: Betty Lane, who was still deeply immersed in her dreams.
Betty Lane must have been dreaming of something amusing, for a faint smile played on her lips as she mumbled in her sleep.
“Lucia, so cute…”
“Smack!”
Lucia’s hand shot out, delivering a resounding slap to Betty Lane’s cheek. The loud crack served as her alarm clock for the new day.
Betty Lane awoke with a start, vigilant. She saw Lucia huddled in the corner of the bed, clutching the thin blanket, biting her lip, and glaring at her with tear-filled eyes.
Betty Lane was also bewildered. However, true to her status as a decorated Viscount, she quickly grasped the full context of the situation and immediately spoke.
“Your Highness, things are not as you imagine. Please allow me to explain…”
“Get out! Waaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
Lucia unleashed a sonic attack. Betty Lane, enduring the sound waves, attempted to continue her explanation, but to no avail. She was blasted out of the room by a pillow.
She stood guard by the door, touching the burning palm print on her face. Amidst her worry, she felt a slight sense of delight.
She had never seen Lucia behave with such girlishness. This was precisely like the romantic tales of flirtatious nobles and innocent maidens whispered in the taverns.
Though she had experienced none of the flirtation herself, and their genders were not conventionally aligned, this did not prevent Betty Lane from subconsciously pairing herself and Lucia as a romantic couple.
Servants, hearing the commotion, rushed over. They saw the Viscountess standing by Lucia’s door, a bright red palm print marring her face. When they inquired, Betty Lane promptly dismissed them.
The servants, not daring to meddle further, dutifully withdrew.
However, while Betty Lane could dismiss the servants, she could not quell their eager hearts for gossip.
Why did the blind girl shriek so tragically?
Why did the Viscountess stand alone by the door?
What untold secrets lay hidden behind the Viscountess’s dismissal of the servants?
Was the vivid red palm print on that noble face a mark of love or a brand of pain?
Behind all of this, was it a distortion of human nature or a degradation of morality?
These interconnected clues, woven into a narrative, sent the assembled servants into a mental frenzy. Perhaps, another scandalous romance was about to unfold.
Approximately ten minutes later, the door was opened from the inside.
Pillowed in her thin blanket, Lucia saw Betty Lane still standing foolishly by the door. She invited her inside.
Betty Lane responded woodenly. Due to her lack of romantic experience, Betty Lane now entered her own room with the same nervousness she might feel walking into the royal palace for the first time.
“Please, please, Your Highness, let me explain…” Betty Lane could only repeat this one dry sentence.
Lucia raised her hand, stopping Betty Lane from speaking further. The little angel, having calmed down for ten minutes, now remembered what had happened last night. She realized she had misunderstood Betty Lane.
“I’m sorry,” Lucia apologized.
“It… it was me who was too nervous.”
“Ah, ah-hmm,” Betty Lane replied, still a bit dazed.
Lucia looked at the palm print on Betty Lane’s face and asked softly, “Does it hurt?”
“No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt at all,” Betty Lane replied, shaking her head.
Betty Lane was a blockhead when it came to romance. Coincidentally, Lucia was also a blockhead, unsure how to continue the conversation. Their eyes met, and an awkward silence filled the entire room.
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