Mystery: The Witch of Desire

Mrs. Waffle smiled:

"I didn't expect such a young and beautiful girl like you to have such traditional ideas."

She paused, then continued:

"Actually, that's what I thought too, and that's what I did. I've always stood silently behind my husband as his supporter. But..."

She changed the subject and continued:

"What would you do if one day you discovered that your husband is not someone you can rely on?"

Chapter 121 Desperate Housewives

Livre was taken aback: Sure enough, Mrs. Waffle found out about Mr. Waffle's affair!

She said somewhat awkwardly:

"If fate has run its course, then parting ways is a better choice."

After she finished speaking, she regretted it, because her words were clearly out of step with the thinking of this era.

Mrs. Waffle nodded thoughtfully:

"Perhaps, this is for the best, but as a woman, sometimes reputation is more important than life itself, and when faced with her husband's infidelity, she can only choose to endure it. But..."

Her tears welled up involuntarily:

"Whenever I think of those lonely nights, and the man beside me in another woman's arms, I still feel sad and tearful..."

As she spoke, tears streamed down her face, and she leaned against Livre as if seeking solace.

Although it was awkward, Livril couldn't refuse, so she let Mrs. Waffle lean on her as a temporary support.

Mrs. Waffle's ample breasts trembled with her sobs, her body pounding like a deer in Livre's arms. A sweet, milky fragrance wafted from her body, filling Livre's nostrils with a unique thrill.

"Madam, don't be sad..."

Livre offered weak words of comfort, gently stroking her back.

However, at this moment, Mrs. Waffle's body was pressed tightly against hers, separated only by a thin layer of clothing, and the other's warm and delicate body temperature was clearly transmitted and lingered around her.

Livre's ears turned slightly red, and she felt inexplicably awkward and embarrassed.

After a moment, Mrs. Waffle slowly raised her head, her eyes misty with tears, and looked at her.

"I feel a little heavy, Miss Marilyn, could you help me back to my bedroom to rest for a while?"

Livre felt a sudden chill, instantly recalling Mrs. Sharon's deliberate, ambiguous seduction in Tingen, and a sense of lingering fear arose in her heart.

She dared not accept this advance, and immediately called for her maid, calmly giving her instructions:

"Mrs. Wah is not feeling well. Please help her back to her bedroom to rest."

After speaking, she stood up gracefully, her expression dignified and gentle, and softly took her leave:

"Since you are not feeling well, I will not disturb you any further. Please take good care of yourself."

After speaking, she nodded slightly in acknowledgment and calmly turned to leave.

Watching Livr leave without a backward glance, Mrs. Waffle's eyes flashed with disappointment. She glared at the maid beside her, her expression full of resentment.

Livre returned home and breathed a long sigh of relief after closing the door. She had hoped to relax a bit with tea and conversation, but she almost got caught up in another ambiguous and complicated situation. She couldn't help but think to herself that perhaps she was overthinking things; Mrs. Wah was just feeling wronged and depressed, and her physical discomfort was due to her low mood, and she had no other intentions.

After calming herself down, Livre focused and began writing her second letter to the Dark Mage.

She had already figured it out: Old Fitch's death and Lucy's escape would inevitably disrupt Luna Bell and Bright's plans. Right now, they must be hesitant and their plans thwarted. If she could seize the opportunity to show her agreement with and yearning for the witch's ideals, displaying a devout attitude, she might be able to establish a connection and tentatively make contact with the witch cult.

In her previous reply, Luna Bell had already subtly mentioned the discord and estrangement among the Seven Gods. Her next move might be to proclaim the supreme power and greatness of the Primordial Witch.

Of course, there is a crucial premise: Luna Bell must see herself as a living person with utility, a sacrifice, and not someone to be proselytized.

Having made up her mind, Livre picked up her quill, dipped it in ink, and calmly began to write the letter:

To the revered Lady of Dark Magic:

Thanks to your guidance in your previous reply, I have been greatly inspired. I have been repeatedly reading your words in recent days and I feel more and more that my previous understanding of witches was too shallow.

You said that the witches' obsession stemmed from their resentment and their resistance to societal prejudice. During this time, I tried to set aside societal perspectives and truly empathize with the character of Aidas. I gradually came to understand that those actions defined as "evil" by the world might simply be the witches' way of fighting against this corrupt world.

In your last reply, you mentioned that the Seven Gods are the masterminds behind this world, and I wholeheartedly agree. If those gods truly loved humanity, then no disasters would befall this land.

At the same time, I also sincerely long for a true deity to descend, to guide the world, to give people strength, and to bring demise to this evil world.

I earnestly request your guidance once again, to tell me more about the truth of witchcraft and how to become a true witch. I am willing to try, no matter the cost. Looking forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

salute!

[Respectfully submitted by Marilyn Monroe]

……

The following morning, Livre arrived at the Paria Theatre Company as usual and personally handed the letter she had written to Bright.

At this moment, Bright's brows furrowed even more deeply. He took the envelope and held it in his hand, then looked up at Livre with a hint of inquiry in his voice:

"Lucy didn't come to rehearsal today. Do you know where she went?"

Livre answered naturally:

"I don't know where she went. I only heard her mention a few days ago that she hadn't been feeling well lately. I suppose she's either bedridden at home or has gone to the hospital for treatment."

She feigned honesty in her answer, both to clear herself of any connection to Lucy's escape and to provide a plausible excuse for Lucy's sudden absence, thus buying her time to hide.

Bright nodded thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on Livre, then a meaningful smile appeared on his face.

"Miss Marilyn Monroe, perhaps 'The Witch Trial' will have to be performed ahead of schedule."

Liviel felt a chill run down her spine, but her face remained impassive:

"Really? Mr. Bright, when will it be brought forward?"

Bright said in a calm tone:

"Perhaps just before April arrives, on the last day of March."

Livre's heart skipped a beat.

Today is March 24th, and there are only seven days left until the end of March.

She feigned concern and asked:

"But the troupe still has many roles that haven't been filled, and the plot hasn't been polished and perfected yet. Is it really appropriate to rush things like this?"

Bright smiled faintly:

"It's alright. I've said it before, the whole play only needs you. Everyone else, all the other characters, are insignificant."

Livr lowered her eyes, adopting a submissive and obedient demeanor:

"I understand. I will rehearse diligently and live up to your expectations."

Bright looked at her obedient and well-behaved manner and nodded in satisfaction.

"Just focus on your rehearsals. I will pass on the message to the Lady of Dark Magic as soon as possible, so that she can reply to you and give you one last piece of guidance and instruction before the final moment arrives."

Thank you for your trouble.

Liviel bowed slightly, her expression solemn and respectful, but her heart was already churning with turmoil.

Without a doubt, something terrible will happen when the performance is released, and she, the "last sacrifice," will probably meet her fateful end.

Livre was certain that if Luna Bell's reply did not express any willingness to contact the witch cult, she would strike first and nip their conspiracy in the bud.

During a break in rehearsal, Livre discreetly observed the remaining people in the theater. The black marks on the young actor Riley and others remained unchanged, which relieved her slightly, as they were not in immediate danger.

As evening fell, Livre returned to 27 Minsk Street. Just as she reached her doorstep, Mr. Waffle's maid greeted her respectfully and said:

“Miss Monroe, Mr. Waffle requests your presence. He says he has something to discuss with you.”

Livre's heart skipped a beat: Could it be that Mrs. Waffle exposed his affair? The couple argued about it, and Mr. Waffle mistakenly thought that I had revealed the secret and came to settle scores with me.

Feeling a bit troubled, Livre composed herself and followed the maid toward Mr. Waffle's house.

Upon entering the gate, Livre saw Mr. and Mrs. Waffle sitting side by side on the living room sofa, talking intimately in hushed tones. Mrs. Waffle even had a faint smile on her face, and there was no trace of any rift or argument between the two.

Seeing Livr enter, the two women rose to greet her. After a brief welcome and pleasantries, Mrs. Waffle smiled and rose, saying gently:

“Miss Monroe, please continue your conversation. I will prepare some tea and refreshments for you.”

After Mrs. Waffle left, Mr. Waffle's smile faded slightly, he leaned forward a little, and spoke with a hint of smugness:

“Miss Monroe, I am very satisfied with how well you have kept my secret during this time. As a token of my gratitude, I can continue to rent the house with you at 13 sols per week. However, as agreed, you should pay the next rent.”

Livre understood; so the other party had contacted her only about the rent. She nodded slightly.

“Okay, Mr. Waffle. I will pay two weeks’ rent as usual, which is £1.60. Is that alright with you?”

Mr. Waffle readily agreed, but his gaze lingered on Livre with unbridled greed and ill intent.

Livre took out the coins from her pocket, counted them, and handed them over. Just as their fingertips were about to touch, Mr. Waffle deliberately slowed down, wanting to take the opportunity to touch her hand a little longer while receiving the money, indulging in that delicate tenderness.

Liviel felt a surge of disgust and quickly withdrew her hand, subtly reminding him:

“Mr. Waffle, I saw yesterday that Mrs. Waffle was not feeling well. You should pay more attention to her. You... should pay more attention to your relationship with Mrs. Waffle.”

Mr. Waffle clearly understood what Livre was talking about, but he laughed without caring at all:

“Miss Monroe, you don’t understand. It’s inevitable for a successful man to be a little more romantic in these areas. This is just my way of relieving work stress. I run a printing company, work hard to support my family, and deal with all sorts of troubles every day. I need this way to relax. What’s wrong with that?”

Livre felt she had nothing more to say to him, so she got up to take her leave:

"Mr. Waffle, the rent has been paid. If there's nothing else, I'll head back now."

Mr. Waffle hurriedly called her back, his eyes becoming increasingly blatant, his tone carrying a hint of suggestion and seduction:

“Miss Monroe, don’t be in such a hurry to leave. I know that life is tough for young people pursuing art these days. If you encounter any difficulties in your life, you can ask me for help, and I will give you satisfactory compensation.”

These words ignited Livre's anger. Looking at Mr. Waffle's greasy and greedy face, she secretly made up her mind that she would teach him a lesson the next time Mrs. Waffle was not at home.

Livre didn't show any reaction, but turned and left immediately.

The next day, upon arriving in Valia, Bright handed Livre the reply from the Dark Mage, saying meaningfully:

"This is the Lady of Dark Magic's final instruction to you. Study it carefully."

His tone wasn't like a normal instruction or explanation; it sounded more like a trial.

Livre accepted the letter and thanked Bright. Returning to the lounge, she began to read it:

To Marilyn Monroe:

Receiving your letter shows how "devout" you are of witchcraft beliefs, which makes me very happy.

You don't need to concern yourself too much with the Seven Gods. Just remember that a witch's power comes from within herself. Accepting the "darkness" within and embracing evil is the beginning of gaining power. You only need to focus on perfecting the character of Aidas, bringing her darkness and evil to the extreme, which is the best way to practice the witch's philosophy.

The rest are just insignificant trifles; don't worry about them. Just focus on your rehearsals and do what you're supposed to do. When the time is right, you will naturally feel the greatness of the witch's power and understand my expectations for you.

There's no need to keep writing to ask questions; focusing on your role is the best response. I will give you final guidance when the time is right.

[The Dark Magician Lady]

Liviel gripped the reply in her hand, her fingers tightening slightly, a cold glint in her eyes. As expected, Luna Bell's perfunctory attitude was obvious. She refused to reveal any substantial information about the witch cult, refused to respond to her probing, and simply kept her focused on her role. Essentially, she was treating Liviel as a sacrifice, someone who knew nothing but to obediently await her fate.

Originally, because the other party was a follower of Chik, Livre still harbored a sliver of possibility for reconciliation, but now, there is no need for that anymore.

These are no ordinary members of a witch cult; we must strike hard.

Today is March 25th, and there are 6 days left until the end of March.

With a gloomy expression, Bright announced that everyone would have to practice until 9 p.m. before leaving. The rest of the troupe, already manipulated into following Bright's lead, nodded mechanically without any emotion on their faces. Livre also pretended to be numb and exhausted, silently staying in the rehearsal room.

As night deepened and the clock struck nine, Livre left the Paria Theater with the others and headed precisely to the Brave Ones Bar to find Redbeard.

Today, Backlund is exceptionally gloomy, with rampant smog sweeping across the entire city, and the pungent air dramatically proclaiming the side effects of industrialization.

The eastern extension of the Joewood district, which is adjacent to the East End, has become increasingly desolate. Thick smog, like a gray curtain, completely shrouded the streets, reducing visibility to less than a few feet. There were few pedestrians on the streets, and only a few figures occasionally hurried by, making the area appear particularly cold and bleak.

As Livre hurried toward the Brave Ones Bar, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye of a pair of dull, empty eyes and hunched, thin figures vaguely emerging in the deep gloom of the distance. They moved slowly, like a group of soulless puppets.

"Is this... a living corpse? Or a vengeful spirit?"

Liviel was startled and instinctively stopped in her tracks, quickly activating her spiritual vision.

Under her spiritual vision, she clearly saw their unhealthy aura, a hazy, lifeless mass. Upon closer inspection, she could see their true forms: they were not zombies or vengeful spirits, but living people, only their faces were expressionless, numb as stones, and their eyes were empty as if they had lost all thought.

These people were clearly from the East District. Their clothes were tattered and covered in dust and grime. They were so thin that they looked as if a gust of wind could blow them over. They looked even more miserable than the laborers who had worked year-round.