The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1135 Ch.1134 Elendira's Wonderful Adventure Part 3
Erendilla, like a knife piercing straight into fantasy and fairy tales, was caught by a soft, sweet cake in her endless, bottomless descent.

The road beneath her feet stretched out to both sides, one leading to hope, the other to the future. She sank into a dream she didn't want to wake up from, even though she knew this, felt annoyed, disappointed, and ashamed of it, she couldn't help but stubbornly persuade herself: it's only for one night.

Only on this one night could she part ways with loneliness and fear, no longer needing to pretend to be that bright, gentle, and dignified person.

She should have known the smell of moss, the feel of rocks, and the temperature of snow before.

Before the precipice where memories can linger, the damaged black wind tunnel is filled only with terrifying howls.

The cold, stagnant water in her heart was boiling, and the steam rising from it was melting the ice that was filling a hole in her soul.

From winter to spring, all it takes is a single, sensitive seed.

"...I have heard many of your stories."

Saying goodbye to Miss Spider, the crystallized notes still lingered in Elendira's ears like wet sand.

Satin-like turf covered the spacious arched hall.

The silk threads cascaded down from the sky, like a curtain of wind, obscuring the echo of rustling footsteps.

Every floor, every room, every passageway.

The indoor waterfall, the wilderness reflected in a glass, the natural green curtain beside the tea room—she was overwhelmed by the sights. The kerosene, soot, and the latrines and urinals of London stained with black boots that she had imagined did not exist in the world after nightfall.

All she smelled was invigorating, and she peered through the fogged-up glass at the graceful silhouettes of the trees.

"my story?"

Roland released the four-winged white birds he held in his palm. They flew in flocks, carrying blue, triangular sugar cubes, through the green filaments.

Sapphire-like candies are not just sweet.

How vivid is your imagination?

“It’s your story…” Elendira held one in her hand and gently placed it on the tip of her tongue: “…the little candle told me a lot.”

“No wonder it hid today,” Roland said, scoffing. “I think these are all headaches.”

“No, sir. They are all… just some…” Elendira brushed the sugar cubes from her curly hair behind her arm when Roland wasn’t looking—the four-winged birds were so hospitable that within minutes, many small blue spots of light sprouted from her red vines.

"These are all stories of heroes and justice..."

The girl tilted her head to look at the man's profile.

Her missing memories did not teach her that a lady should not stare so intently at a man: she was shameless, following her own nature to pursue what she desired.

“That wasn’t entirely my doing, Miss Erentilla. My friends at the tea party were a great help—they would be happy to see you too… You enjoy making different kinds of friends, don’t you?”

Roland waved his hand, lifting the layers of hanging silk, inviting the girl to continue inside.

They heard the gentle tinkling of the spring water.

“I…I don’t know, sir. It was just a coincidence that the little candle met me through the pipe—I don’t even know if I should come into your dream…Father…Father said that many things are too dangerous…”

At Roland's suggestion, Elendira slowed her pace.

A clear spring, like a tear stain, meanders across the green skin that chews the soil.

“Your father loves you more than life itself.” Roland snapped his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, his leather shoes disappeared without a trace.

He stepped naked into the spring and turned to look at the girl hesitating on the 'shore'.

“He loves me…yes, sir, he loves me and worries about me.”

Elendira pursed her lips.

Can…

What is 'love'?
Elendira stood on the edge of the cliff, gazing into the abyss of memory, asking questions. Only the cold wind stung her skin in response.

"But occasionally going against the grain can help you live longer. Haven't you seen the recent news in the London Medical Journal? The most authoritative doctors at the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons have done research—people who want to live happily and do bad things always live longer than well-behaved, law-abiding people..."

Erendira paused for a moment: "Sir? What day is it?"

Roland blinked: "I thought you didn't pay much attention to these things..."

“No, sir, someone read to me something about the medical newspaper…” Elendira frowned thoughtfully. She didn’t recall the medical newspaper having any such strange news—perhaps the servant hadn’t read it to her?

Roland changed the subject: "I'm mistaken, Miss. It was researched by a friend of a friend's mentor, and it probably hasn't been published yet..."

He quietly approached the hesitant girl on the shore and reached out his hand to her while she looked at him with suspicion.

Palms facing up.

"Come on, we have to cross this stream."

Elendira clutched the folds of her skirt, like a piece of glass that had been exposed to the sun, her thoughts almost entirely written on her face.

Her legs.

Her two legs creaked when she moved, and she needed to lubricate the joints with grease every day…

Metal legs.

She had to lift the hem of her skirt before stepping into the stream.

then.

She showed her most 'disgusting' side to her most admired husband.

Elendira lost much, even living only on a small cliff—but she wasn't without common sense, and her eyesight was still quite good, so she naturally knew that humans don't have 'iron legs'.

No maid had ever taken care of her.

Mr. Collins did not.

Small candles…

The little candle is a snake.

"I don't really like streams, sir. How about we—ah!"

Before she could finish speaking, her wrist was grabbed, and an irresistible force pulled her into the stream—her skirt, which hadn't had time to float away, was completely soaked in the water, clinging shriveled to her two thin, bony legs covered in pipes and gears.

The red-haired girl, tears welling in her eyes and a strand clinging to the corner of her mouth, raised her head and gazed blankly at the man who had humiliated her and stripped her of all dignity:

A beautiful, unique oil painting with its bottom half torn off.

But he did not apologize to the lady for his offense like the men in the story—Elendira should have known that a man who could possess a talking white snake was not like the character in the 'standard story' told by the servants.

otherwise.

What's the fun in that?
taste?

Elendira froze: How could she have thought of that word?
“My friend says that life is about constant adventure. Miss Elendira, do you agree?”

Footsteps, gliding across the ripples, intertwined in the splashing water, casting shadows of their journey. Free and unrestrained, they darted left and right, aimlessly weaving through the tassels of nature and fantasy. Elendira could only glimpse the black hair bound by emerald green; a joyful impulse, sharper than thought itself, pierced through her timid self-doubt and composure like lightning.

Everything around me became incredibly blurry.

Grapevine-like tendrils gently brushed against her wet cheeks.

They chirped and sang in her bountiful season, calling out to the woman who was inexplicably drawn forward by some force:
Open your eyes wide, darling.

(End of this chapter)