Count Shakma was a great philanthropist. He was kind and charitable, saved the poor and saved the woman who was slandered as a witch.

Count Shakma was a poor dictator. On Easter night, he killed his wife and daughter.

The white round tower reaches into the sky, and when you look up, the strong sunlight pierces your eyes, and you can't see the top of the tower.

Angelo inserts the key into the lock hole and turns the key clockwise. With a "click", the door opened. Angelo pushed open the heavy door, and the dust raised floated in the sunlight that shone straight into the tower.

He looked back at Asago and Phoebe in the distance, and said with a smile, "I'll see you later." ”

He closed the door, smiling, his gaze locked on the spiral staircase in the center of the hall.

It is said that as long as you enter the tower, you can remember the language spoken before your death, and keep walking up the tower, and the evil spirit in the tower will tell the climber in his ear all the things he has experienced in his life, and the climber will gradually recover his memories and never leave the tower again.

Angelo stepped up the stone-gray staircase, step by step, the sound of footsteps echoing through the empty hall.

For the legendary evil spirit, Angelo didn't take it to heart at all. He walked leisurely, humming a little tune, and easily climbed to the second floor, which was no different from the first floor, and it was also empty. He carefully inspected every nook and cranny of the second floor, but found nothing he was looking for.

"Keep climbing."

He whispered, only to realize that he was speaking Middle English.

The legend is true.

Angelo continued to walk up the floor, repeating the steps of climbing the stairs and searching the halls for information.

Gradually, the sound of crying can be heard from above the floor. Angelo followed the sound and climbed another floor.

This floor is a splendid room with many portraits hanging in the room, and flowers at the windows, on the table, and at the head of the bed. On the white sheets lay a blonde woman, her eyes closed, peaceful and peaceful. Next to her bedside, a middle-aged man hugged his head and cried, tears wetting his gorgeous clothes. There were also some maids standing beside the bed, who were also hiding their faces and sobbing with their heads bowed.

Suddenly, an older maid turned her head and stared at Angelo with dark eyes.

"Young master, Madame is gone."

The middle-aged man also turned his head, glared at Angelo viciously, and scolded sharply: "Angelo, your mother is gone, why don't you cry?" Why don't you cry? ”

Angelo smiled wryly, didn't speak, and continued to climb the stairs to the previous floor.

There was laughter again, and by the fire, a blonde woman was knitting a scarf, and the little girl beside her was scribbling on paper with a pen. The middle-aged man just now sat on the side of the sofa, drinking coffee and reading a book, and the warm firelight reflected on them.

The blonde woman looked up, her blue eyes reflecting the figure of a young boy of eight or nine years old.

"Angelo, you're here," the blonde woman boasted, picking up the half-knitted scarf in her hand. "Angelo, do you like this color?"

The little girl who drew happily raised the painting in her hand, her eyes bent into crescent moons.

"Angelo, Angelo, look at my drawing," she pointed to the little figure on the painting, "this is Father, Mother, Angelo and I ......"

The little girl was innocent, and Angelo's heart trembled.

Neither in the scene where the blonde dies or in the current heartwarming scene, Angelo doesn't answer.

It's useless, I know, these are hallucinations.

Whether it is fear, joy, or pain, once it becomes a memory, it will not be shocking after a long time.

After climbing the stairs for so long, he was a little tired, and sat down in a corner of the hall, and he watched the joy in the firelight.

"It's useless for me to broadcast memories from the past." He whispered.

"Really?"

There was a child's laughter in my ears, but I couldn't see the human figure, and the voice came into my ears faintly, like the whisper of a demon.

"You keep going upstairs, you just keep going up, and the memories you see will become clearer and clearer......"

"I know," Angelo chuckled. "Even if you play out all the memories of my life, it's useless. Because...... I remember ......"

A long sigh escaped Angelo's lips as he looked at the gray ceiling instead.

"Next, I may see my father's betrayal, no, a long-planned conspiracy. The mother was spurned by 10,000 people, and the sister was burned to death by fire, and then she ...... herself Tormented by eternal life...... Lived for hundreds of years......"

He closed his eyes and took a nap, and the smile that came to his mind was Phoebe's clever smile.

"Angelo, why don't you ignore me?" The little girl who was painting walked up to Angelo's side, her fleshy little hands shaking Angelo's shoulders, and her big blue eyes were so clear that she could not tolerate a trace of impurities.

Angelo opened her eyes and smiled softly at the hallucinatory figure.

"I'm just a little tired and don't want to talk."

"Angelo, will you touch my head?"

"Okay." Angelo reached out and put her hand on the little girl's blonde hair and stroked it gently.

"Angelo, hug me, okay?"

"Okay."

The little girl threw herself into his arms.

Angelo hugged the little girl and stroked her head. In a trance, he seemed to go back to the past, he was also a child who did not understand the world, forced to be precocious, and learned to read words and feelings. The little girl in his arms was the greatest comfort in his life.

"Phoebe, thank you."

He said softly.

Whether it's reality, or illusion, I can't refuse your request.