"It's time to go to bed." The woman said for the third time, but the little purple-eyed guy still tugged at her sleeve and hummed a few unfinished words. Like a child, but it shouldn't be just a few days old.

She sat back on the bed helplessly and nodded the tip of his nose: "I said that I would go to sleep after tying the little butterfly, why don't you be obedient." ”

"Mom, yes." The little thing muttered and arched in her arms, and the force almost made her tumble. She patted his back patiently as he moved, lifted his chin, and let the soft little face face to herself, a pair of eyes sparkling and innocent.

"Do you want to sleep with your mom?" The woman asked softly. The little guy rolled his eyes, glanced at the crib next to him, nodded his head, and smiled sweetly.

"The little villain is playing stupid again." She snorted, tapped the corner of his forehead, and lowered her head to kiss it.

In just a few days, he had grown to the size that the cradle could not carry, and Master Fogham had to make a special crib. But since the little bed was placed in her room, the regular program every night has become a battle of wits and courage.

To date, women have largely not won. But Mistress Fogham doesn't blame her, it's always hard to say no when those purple eyes are on you.

What's more, the adults themselves have been taught a lesson by Lord Shelley several times for feeding food without permission.

"Mom, go take a shower and come back to sleep together." She pulled out her sleeve slightly. The little one's eyes stared at her motionlessly, inexplicably revealing some nervousness. "Mom's ......"

"Don't be afraid," she whispered, "Mommy will keep the light for you, and I'll be back at once." ”

The woman placed a small butterfly made of blades of grass in the palm of his hand. "Is it okay to play with the little butterfly for a while, good baby, don't be afraid."

The little guy glanced at the little butterfly, carefully pinched one of its wings, bit his lip and nodded. "Mom, quick."

"Okay," she leaned over and kissed her forehead again, "Mommy must come back soon after washing." ”

The road to the bath was a little far, but she knew it by heart. After leaving the days facing the yellow sand, she became more and more addicted to the feeling of washing her body with clean water, as if washing away the difficult past.

Every time she reluctantly stepped out of the pool and looked at her reflection, she felt closer to the beautiful presence in Lord Forgrim's mouth.

The adults also left a light for her. He was always so considerate. The woman was now immensely grateful that he had brought herself into a whole new life, even if it was surrounded by cold, twisted metal and two weirdos, but with him, even these seemed sweet.

What's more, now that the adults' efforts to improve the environment have been reflected in all kinds of new furniture and decorations, she knows it's all for herself.

She rounded a familiar corner, and couldn't help but be lighter at the thought of adults. The afterglow unintentionally swept over the corner where the light could not be found, and there was a slightly dense shadow standing quietly, perhaps some miscellaneous items or a new product of an adult......

"Hello." Shadow whispered.

-----------------

Fogham's room was out of place in any part of the ship, and the walnut bookcase was lined with books of all sorts—some forbidden names, and some quaint ornaments, including a small plaster cast of a severed skull and glued together, a scar standing prominently across the throat.

Tapestries and paintings on the warm wallpaper have their place, the most striking is the painting "Saturnalia Eats Child" in front of the desk. The flames on the two gilded candelabra burned slowly, reflecting the face of Saturn, the god of agriculture, even more distorted and gloomy. It's more like the study of a bureaucrat with a little taste, but it's a pity that the restless owner shatters this illusion.

Fogrem walked around the room again and again, his beautiful silver hair tousled by him. He bit his lip and absentmindedly kicked away the drawings and metal parts on the ground.

"Damn, shit, what the hell went wrong?" He pressed the lens on the broken table in frustration, blood leaking from between his fingers.

"The data and the time are exactly the same...... Without any subspace fluctuations, how the hell did we get to this hellish place? ”

Fogrem fell on the bed and rolled around several times. He jumped up as if he remembered something, and then stopped and frowned. "Is it coming to this point?" He muttered to himself.

Finally, he made up his mind to look at the Saturnalia and snapped his finger to spot the blood on Saturn's hideous right eye.

Saturnalia blinked, then spat out an ebony box with incantations and prayers coiled around it, recessed with silver threads. Forgrim's hand hovered in the air for a few seconds, but he still pressed the silver buckle.

"Dirty shit, you've finally released the greatest Urion Rakat!" A shrill sound came from the box, like a blade scraping an eardrum. Fogham's eyebrows were tightened even more.

He placed the box on the table and watched as a piece of dough stood up on its own, cracking a mouth up to the base of his ear. "I will make you doomed until all imaginable pain is as gentle as a mother's embrace."

"Let me warn you, you are only a gift for Rakat prepared by the Flesh Prophets on a whim, and he himself will not be reduced to a face." Fogrem sat back in his chair, "Also, I can see the wallpaper pattern behind me through your mouth." ”

Grimace immediately put away his laughter, spitting out a forked, prickly tongue and a slippery whisper. "Remember to call me Master Lacat. Be respectful, you're just a lowly creature. But even this kind of thing of yours, which is the only commendable result we get from Bayer, is really inferior. ”

Despite the lack of a trachea, he snorted heavily, half of his cheeks twitching with bone spurs, and the other half of his slender eyes were crooked with a smile. "It's ridiculous that so many generations of mediocrity can only provide this little value."

"It's better than throwing it in a box......"

"Rakat!"

"Alright, Rakat." "I am very honored for all the pain I have inflicted on you, and for the antics you have done for it," said Vogrim softly. ”

"This is what ...... be present," said Rakat with a sense of pity, "this is what is not so defiled with the eyes of the Lord of the Prophets of Flesh." ”

He staggered around and smacked loudly at the painting. "Saturnalia? Your art is much more beautiful than your own, but your taste is still so old-fashioned. ”

Fogrem just sat quietly in his chair.

"I'm learning to put up with you." His voice was still sweet and beautiful, each syllable was bitten rhythmically, and his eyelashes trembled slightly, "It's not easy." ”

"Of course," Rakat licked his lips, "what a wonderful archetype you are, layers upon layers of codes in your genes, we've dismantled a lot, but we've failed even more. But you, oh, a product of failure, are nothing but absorb the emotions of other beings! ”

He lowered his voice, making it more sinister. "What an unexpected achievement, what a sweet pain...... Although you were born a failure. Although, although...... It's too dramatic, too enviable, for you to taste the emotions that drift through our flesh workshop when you know nothing! ”

In the midst of the hoarse laughter, Fogham did not move, his chest undulating and undulating, his eyes as clear as pure amethysts in the light, almost turning Rakat's ugly reflection into brilliance.