In the era of war, in addition to learning history, the only thing left to learn was combat skills, which my father taught me from an early age. As a result, I mastered swordsmanship faster than my peers, and at the age of fifteen, I entered the High Overseer Academy with excellent swordsmanship.

In the past five years, we are getting closer and closer to the time of sudden realization. I think about the first event, the moment when I first really thought about the people I was close to. To me, they were like a signpost that guided my destiny.

Under the influence of ancient culture, etiquette is always important. In the city of Wharton, every girl must enter a church to learn from the moment she learns to walk and speak.

It just so happened that it also happened at Balkvig Church, which I was only three years old when I first went to church, and my memory of it is far from complete. What really struck me was the rows of oak seats, plus a clear but incoherent memory: I looked out through the frozen ice crystal window. In addition to Chu Ci, what impressed me even more was the bald male bishop.

The bishop was hunched over, always a smiling face, but behind that smile was surprisingly cruel. As he walked through the corridors of the church, he always held his scepter in both hands, as if to serve food to a banquet. When he returns to his office, he will place the scepter on his desk.

At that time, we used to say, "It's over, it's your turn." "I was a regular visitor to his office because he hated my optimism about everything, and my black hair, and even complained about my laughter, always calling my jovial smile a "smirk." He said he would use the scepter to keep me from laughing.

He's right, I don't laugh anymore, but only temporarily.

Then one day, my mother and father came to the church to visit the bishop. And I went to the office as requested. The moment my parents turned their chairs to welcome me, I could clearly see that the smile that had been deep on their faces immediately turned to contempt, as if they were jealous of the moment of family reunion.

If it was only my mother who came to see me, I might not be so formal. I would quickly run to her and hide behind the hem of her skirt, hoping to get out of this place of trepidation. But they all came, and my father was a mentor and a king to me. He set the pattern of etiquette we followed, and he was the one who sent me to the church for further study.

So, I walked over, curtsy, and waited quietly.

My mother grabbed my hand, and I don't know how she saw it, as I put it at my side, but for some reason, she still caught a glimpse of the scepter left on it.

"What is this?" She raised my hand and questioned the bishop.

As far back as I can remember, the bishop was always calm. But at this time, I saw that he was pale. In the blink of an eye, my mother went from being a polite guest to a one* that would explode at any moment. We felt it, but the bishop felt it strongly.

He forced a smile, but that didn't hide his stammer, "As I said, Luna is too naughty and headstrong. ”

"So you hit her with a scepter?" My mother asked rhetorically, the volcano in her heart had erupted.

The bishop could only stubbornly reply, "Otherwise, how do you think I can maintain order?" ”

The mother grabbed the scepter from his desk: "I really didn't expect you to use this method, do you think it will make you strong?" With that, she snapped the scepter in her hand.

The bishop was taken aback, he swallowed, and his gaze turned to his father.

At this point, his father looked down at the pocket watch in his hand, as if these things had nothing to do with him.

"If you agree that is the case." The mother added, "She will only make you weaker!" ”

Mother stood up, glaring at the bishop, but after a moment she regained her composure, and she threw the severed scepter into the corner, then took my hand and said softly, "Let's go, Luna." ”

We left the church, and from then on, the one who taught me the liturgy became my mother.

With that, we rushed to the church, hailed the mechanical carriage at the door, and we made our way home without a word. When I saw my mother's angry look. I couldn't help but think of one thing: a noble lady would not have done what she had just done, at least not in general.

Another thing is that when a colleague of my father held a birthday party, due to the population restrictions on the floating continent, basically ten people lived in a manor, but the scale was very large, so everyone could be assigned a private room.

Speaking of that birthday party, there were many girls and boys my age, and since I was a lively child with acquaintances and cold to the living, I did not play with them.

The girls played with the dolls and let them "drink tea", but there was no real tea or real pastries, but they pretended to feed the dolls sand and soil. Even though I was only seven years old at the time, I always thought it was stupid.

Not far away, the boys were fighting with sticks, as if they were honing their swordsmanship, and I walked over to play with them, unaware of their shock and silence.

Ms. Nightingale pulled me aside, and usually when my father and mother were away, I asked Ms. Nightingale and another friend of my mother, Carfrin, to take care of me. Ms. Nightingale is the most normal of the "Black Widows", and at least she doesn't make me tremble when she laughs. She is a well-known local nurse and a well-known professor of biology at Whartont. She's a nice person, and she speaks in a gentle tone. But at this time, her tone was very resolute: "Hurry up and play with those dolls," I looked around, and the guests around me were all looking at me, their eyes full of dissatisfaction.

In desperation, I was taken to the girl's side.

I sat down obediently, and then pretended to be very interested in the non-existent pastries and teas, and was very warm and friendly to the living people, and when the awkward episode passed, the surroundings were calm again.

I looked into the distance, where a group of ladies sat in chairs chatting happily. I looked at the ladies who were chatting and looked at them with the eyes of adults. I saw the possibility of becoming them, but at the same time I was pretty sure that it wasn't going to be my future. I don't want to be like that, I think I'll grow up like my mother, find an excuse to stay away from those long-tongued women, and then stand alone by the pool in the distance, so that I will stand out from the crowd.

It was at this time that I received a message from Mr. William, who said that one of the gentlemen wished to meet my father and mother in some basement of the manor at the end of the feast, and that the process should be light and as little as possible so that no one else would know about it.

It's over, now I have a secret. Sometimes I felt like the poor people Wharton had ever met, for I was often bent over by secrets that were both heavy and untold.

I was only seven years old at the time.