Someone has said that evenings are a good time for reflection and solitude, and Yvonne agrees.

The night naturally shields from external disturbances, strips away the complicated thoughts, and brings the mind closer to a clean and primitive state, making it convenient to focus on the things in front of you.

Strange as it may sound, it feels good to be away from Kraft's side for a while. Of course, it is not that there is anything wrong with the former, on the contrary, he has always shown considerable concern and even accommodation.

As a doctor, a professor, and a participant in some unknown matter, it is difficult to imagine that one person can maintain care and empathy for the thoughts of other individuals when they need to be present in more than three locations at the same time, juggling multiple identities and corresponding responsibilities.

It's undoubtedly good, it's good, but it's also heavy. Depending on the person's perspective and sensitivity, it can be interpreted as closeness, alienation, respect, expectation, or a kind of pressure.

But it didn't seem to be a purely psychological effect, and Yvonne did feel some kind of pressure, especially when Kraft was in a state of concentration, like stepping into an irregular pool of water centered around him, and something thicker than the breeze gave even pressure on the skin that did not work on the skin.

Judging from other people's reactions, this feeling is probably a special case, and it is not entirely real, it is close to looking at a very realistic painting, reading a text with a very detailed description, and receiving second-hand information that has been conveyed very realistically.

This is accompanied by a whispering whisper, leaning behind the ear repeating syllables that may have meaning.

Sometimes she felt like she understood something, but when she thought about it, it was as lost as the old dreams that had been evaporated by the sun in the morning.

On this relatively quiet night, the voices behind those ears also stopped for a while, so that people could calmly open the books and study at their own pace.

It would be better if it wasn't so sleepy.

Silence doesn't necessarily bring efficiency, it can also be tiredness.

It has to be said that there is indeed a tendency for Yvonne to feel that he is easily tired and slides into a haze uncontrollably, and the gap between him and Koop is further widened, and the gap cultivates more anxiety and stress.

Self-doubt has grown on this fertile soil, and physical changes have not opened a breakthrough point for the status quo for the time being, and some suspicious side effects have begun to appear.

Being excluded again catalyzes negative cognitive growth, even knowing that this soft dissuasion is based on good intentions.

The wax oil is like a hope from a month ago, melting and deforming, and finally falling into a mess. When the knuckle-length wick finally began to carbonize, Yvonne suddenly realized that in the middle of the night he had seen less than half of the progress of the previous day, and the drunk man in the tavern diagonally opposite was already humming a bubbling tune and ready to leave.

[I don't understand]

She came to the bedside with a brass candlestick and blew out the remaining light, sorry for the candle that had wasted her life for the fugue.

With a sense of exhaustion and nothingness, the body burrows into the futon, ready for tomorrow.

However, his consciousness was not yet ready to rest completely, and Yvonne felt that part of it was still active, squirming like cramping muscles, as if it did not fully belong to the body.

But after all, it is still a part of the whole, and it cannot be shaken off and will never stop. Perhaps the feeling of exhaustion comes from this endless internal friction.

I was already tired, but I guess it would be a while before I fell asleep.

The low, small chatter came to the pinna again, and the short worm-like feet in the hay mattress grew and crawled itchingly.

Short, unfamiliar pronunciation points in the ear canal and throat, narrating the bleak and cold to the bizarre content, the consciousness stepping barefoot on the surface of the colorless dream, peeking through the glass into a kind of visual memory without dead ends.

She ran through the avenues of thin silk threads and dust, which stretched and weaved, stretching out into the distance.

Like swimming in water, no, freer than that, it is to take off the shackles of solidification, to roam in some essential form, to merge into any form, to become any form through the ubiquitous medium.

It is the freest consciousness in its own kingdom, and even if some forms sometimes enter its kingdom, it doesn't matter, these forms will soon become part of the kingdom.

Not surprisingly, there is no consciousness that is not satisfied with this life.

Until a crack opened in the kingdom, revealing something that had never been seen behind it, and therefore never imagined—a world of abundance of color.

So when the rift extended the invitation, she accepted it without hesitation.

Leaping into it, she felt the solid form, heavy and concrete, the pitch black in front of her eyes, her hands and feet wrapped in the bedding, everything was no different from before she fell asleep, and it seemed that everything had quietly changed.

But the sober exhaustion has not changed.

Yvonne woke up sleepy, the whispering in his ears gone, replaced by strange noises outside.

It's a bit like returning to the room late, but there is no long footsteps, and there is no sound of follow-up washing and resting.

The unclosed window leaked through the sound of a low-key whistle, piercing the night and conveying a meaning unknown to outsiders.

The hurried steps and shouting upstairs made things go in an unexpected direction, a sound that had not been heard in the clinic. Yvonne chose to light a candle on the candlestick, shielding the light with his hand and waiting for the change.

She was still in the midst of chaos, the remnants of shattered dreams and exhaustion taking turns against the Conscious Reserve.

Soon, the voices grew louder, the screeching of the old doorway shafts, the running, jumping and crashing. When the loud sound of heavy objects falling and breaking wood was heard, it was finally hard to bear.

Manipulating his body in a marionette style, Yvonne put on his boots and got out of bed, picked up the candlestick and opened the door.

Two unimpressed figures were wrestling in the hallway. It may not be appropriate to say this, but one side has the absolute upper hand.

The sudden appearance of the light source briefly paused the movement, and the slender backs of the arms twisted in a half-circle, the neck and body were unusually flexible, and the face that had been left by the occlusion was exposed to the light.

Yvonne could see the face more clearly than the man on the ground who was holding the intruder's leg and shouting something.

Pale and wet skin, clinging to the asymmetrically deformed bones, pulls out a malicious expression that contains cruelty and satisfaction, perhaps an approximation of a smile. Wait for the collapse of those who look at it, and draw from it something that the distorted soul is happy to see.

He didn't get the reaction he expected, only a pair of tired, nonchalant eyes, and incomprehensible movements.

Probably due to reflex movements, the girl threw the light source in her hand at him.

The flame was extinguished before it could be thrown, and the dark brown metal reflection flickered for a blink of an eye, revealing the object's identity.

A multi-branched candlestick made of pure copper, heavy and expensive, usually used as a fixed ornament.

It vanished into the darkness of re-adventurism, lost its track in sight, the wheezing wind signaling something approaching, and thoughts and movements still stuck in the stage of "can be removed at will".

A moment of time is stretched out in consciousness. The first is that the outstretched hand touches something, but it is empty, and it passes between the intercepted palms and fingers, as if there is nothing there.

The thorax softened in a flail, and breathing was forcibly suspended and could no longer be activated.

The part of the body that stopped in one path lost its sensory feedback, and its function and presence disappeared along with it, and the sharp pain immediately filled the gap, and the irresistible force briefly lifted the feet from the ground and fell heavily.