The Rotten Lady Rosa Wants to Watch Over Love from the Shadows

I can tell by the current fay that I've been floating for the past week.

His life has indeed been fulfilling since Rosa began to make him paint tons of sketches in what she called "challenges".

Originally, I liked paintings.

Since there was no paper and the pen could not be bought satisfactorily, I painted on the soil, on the dust marks of the windows, sometimes even the blood of the Warcraft attached to my fingers.

If fighting lifted his mind, painting comforted his heart.

I just thought that was a comfort.

I told him this was a free time.

Because what happens when you have to work a few times more than people, where you can paint somewhat well?

But after Rosa showed me the way to a copybook job, the idea began to change rapidly.

I have talent.

A talent that moves someone's heart, as if it were one person or another.

All the artwork Rosa introduces us to throughout the class was brilliant.

The way it is interpreted is novel, the imagination is bottomless, and if she speaks, history and arithmetic seem to be full of excitement.

I want to know more.

I want to learn more.

Express what you like, whatever you want - I want to be recognized.

It didn't take much time to start thinking that.

When I realized it, at the gap time, no, it was beginning to become a habit to spare even while I slept and paint.

People, especially young people and boys, like to draw.

Right around the corner, there was a beautiful boy, Bernardo, who looked like a painting, and the copybook job painted the most because he was a man such as Berk, the Lord God, and a hero.

No, it was pre-construction, and the truth is, when I tried to paint a beautiful woman, I realized that everything would reside in Rosa's face, because that was embarrassing.

Gem-like eyes staring straight at this one.

A soft cheek that knows no malice. Lips with a flowery smile.

Everything Faye knows about female beauty is made up of her.

You told Bernardo, "Don't leave me alone," and I'll admit, Faye had already tried to forgive Rosa.

No matter how cold it may be, how can you not be open minded, being gently praised for trivialities that you don't even notice, and even given the hope of living?

So, yeah, I was on track.

With a massively painted sketch in his hand, he inflated his chest to expectations like a ship's sail, knocking on the church gates, nothing more than because he was floating.

The senior priest, who had booked a meeting, came out right away.

He is an elderly man with a calm waist, quite superior among the priests, who always works for the royal castle.

When Fay was having trouble with his job, he was also the one who took care of his work in the church.

Rumor has it that he chose the priestly path without enough magic, even though he himself is a nobleman with a title.

I'm sure it was a downfall in the aristocratic society, but on the contrary, that reassured Faye.

To fill in the shortcomings, the priest, who is actively taking to the church in the lower town and speaking out to the citizens, regardless of their status as noblemen, was the only nobleman who seemed worthy of trust.

He even reached out to Faye, the immigrant, saying, "There's only one job you can do," and I'm sure this time, he'll cooperate.

He would surely narrow his eyes and praise the painting if he smiled gently and listened to Faye, who speaks in an irresistible way.

Yes, like Rosa.

But as other children do, when he tried to make his way to the penance room with the priest, he has stopped as bewildered.

"Wait, Faye. This is where the citizens confess."

The old priest told Faye, who could not immediately swallow the meaning and looked back with a suspicious face, that he seeped a bitter smile in his wrinkly serene face.

"If you want to talk, let's hear it outside the church"

It's like teaching a child who can't reason.

A voice wrapped in softness and frustration.

As soon as she heard it, Faye understood.

He said he was in him - not a "citizen" to be merciful to.

In fact, even though Faye told him that he wanted to challenge him to take the exam to the copybook position, he left his soft expression undamaged, but immediately denied it.

"Great willingness to approach God, but I think you're doing your job right now."

Work now.

It is the task of collecting the skin of a corrupt beast so that no blood can be scattered with negative magic.

A two-horned warcraft shaped like a black horse, the bicorn, says it is important to collect its blood and purify it in the church because leaving the remains unattended can be a source of disease.

Rotten blood disposal is an act of saving the people, and because not everyone can do it, it has been secretly told to a small number of people, he once said.

When the unsuitable touch the decaying blood, they die.

There are not many who can do this job in your year. Congratulations, you were chosen - Faye was indeed pleased when he was told that.

I thought I was recognized for the first time.

But in fact, all the men gathered in the basement of the Church, to the best of Faye's knowledge, are children even younger than themselves or otherwise flattened from society.

Being gentle and alert, still in a grumpy face, silently bathing in the blood of a warcraft, sometimes makes me crazy.

And yet, he says, this is what Faye deserves.

When Faye could put much effort into her back teeth, she embarked on herself and offered a sketchbook to the priest.

"No. I want to, in some other way, stand up. For once, please, look. I painted" Drop off the Lord "."

As soon as this one gets himself out, he's half-walking.

Without complaining about his insignificant rejection, Faye let him page in front of him.

"This is the Lord God Berk. This, hero. Flowers, candlesticks and wavy lakes representing the Twelve Apostles. All I have is my hands."

"Hey, Faye."

But when I heard the heavy sigh, I finally stopped turning the paper.

"I hate to say this, but I guess it's hard for you to solve Berk's religious paintings"

This time, it was a disdain to be surrounded by soft voices.

"Holy painting is not like taking out just the part you want to draw and drawing. It all makes sense, both in the person's position and in the direction of his gaze. So it's an expression built on a very advanced discipline."

"I didn't just draw the part I wanted to draw -"

"Sacred paintings make sense only if they are thought-out schematics, using polished techniques and metaphors, and let them fit in a single width of painting. It's not a graffiti that children like to draw, it's a single picture that educated adults discuss and collaborate to create. I don't think you can argue or work with citizens."

In a gentle voice, but clearly disconnected, Faye lost her words.

To the stiff boy, the priest frowned, as if he feared becoming a villain himself.

"Please, don't make me say any more. You are a brilliant boy. I don't have to use cruel language to understand your situation or what kind of work you have to do, do you?

I mean, I want to say to Faye that the job of collecting the rotten blood of the Warcraft suits her.

Leaving a stunned fay, the priest said, "May there be the grace of the Lord. Then," only the words gently said, just turned back to the church.

As he blurts out his back as he leaves behind the door, a church soldier comes and is prompted to get out of the gate as soon as possible.

Still unable to move, Faye stared at the closed door.

Spectacular space with plenty of marble, peeking through the gap.

The base of the citizens of Berk, full of candlesticks, paintings and luxurious sculptures.

Once when my mother was still alive, Faye wore the hood deeply and was visiting Mass.

The contents of the priest's preaching Bible also knocked him desperately into his head.

They have a different appearance from the Berks, which is why it was necessary to sharpen heresy by bringing faith closer together.

They once had a country.

There must have been a language of its own, a faith of its own, and a culture.

But I came to this country, scrubbing them aside, laying my head down.

Their homeland perished, knowing that the greedy Berk had vandalized other nations of his own accord and scattered the mistletoe.

- The result is this.

Faye was silent and stuck the sketchbook in his bag.

Turn your heels back and exit the gate.

(It's no use, anything)

Yeah, about this one, I get it.

I'm the troublemaker in this town.

In an effort to overlap, in a good painting, such is no different from the art performed by thin dirty monkeys from a flourishing Berk human being.

(... was floating)

What, and I had feelings coming from the back of my body.

He decided to think it was anger.

I didn't want to give it any other name.

I am angry. I'm angry. I hate it.

Smiling, whimsically praising, about them, who end up trampling like bugs.

(Why, I forgot)

The fact that they reach out to get drunk on their good deeds, and they don't accept bugs, and they don't shred themselves.

If you eat up your teeth and walk away, you'll eventually see an old orphanage.

At that moment when I crept through the collapsing gate, I said, "Faye!" and a light voice sounded, and he put his strength into his fist.

Right now, most of all, I didn't want to see her face.

"Did you see the priest safely? I got your autograph, didn't I? Did you show me the religious drawings of the assignment? How could you praise me?"

But Rosa tides that beautiful face and asks no more.

Naturally, the attitude of getting a recommendation seemed to stick to the difference between her and her position.

If you shake off your arms, you'll be worried about your health this time.

That, more frustrated by the gratuitous look, Faye was screaming if he noticed.

"Don't touch it!

Surprisingly open to purple eyes, for some reason, he was stirred up by the urge to screw up his opponent.

"Anyway, it's a thin, dirty, learned, incapable, lowlife people"

At any rate, this girl delights the weak at random and throws them away when she gets bored.

"Your words made me look stupid."

How hateful of that power and arrogance that knocks the other person down to the bottom of despair in one mood.

Faye couldn't help but want to reward this girl with one arrow.

In front of a faded rosa, he fishes raggedly for cloth bags.

"I, an immigrant, say the job of collecting the rotten blood of a warcraft suits me. I was told this was a graffiti of a child, with only what I liked, uncultivated"

"Oh no...!

"Don't be ridiculous!

Finally, the words of my hometown, which I hadn't used in a long time, popped up.

"Don't be ridiculous! Don't joke! Don't joke! Dreaming about people, so much fun, huh!

And I realized, that my mother tongue is completely stained with Berk, and I'm not manipulating enough.

Losing his rough emotional slot, Faye finally distorts his face.

And with all the passion, he threw a bunch of paper toward the pond.

"Huh...!

"Hey, Faye!

Dobble, makes a cloudy noise, and the sketchbook sinks.

Bernardo, who I saw, raised his voice, but I couldn't stop.

'Enough already! Anyway, I'm gonna spend the rest of my life in the blood of a warcraft. My paintings would look good all over the mud in the pond. What's the talent, what's the...'

"This, silly!

Pan!

But at that time, Faye accidentally shut his mouth because he was cursed with words that only he was supposed to know, and a sharp thrust sounded.

It was Rosa who shouted, - and for some reason, it was also her own cheek that she hit.

'Huh... Huh?

"Hey sister!? Why are you beating yourself up there!?

'How much you ghosted your mind, you can't possibly even hit "push"!? Belton, you say you can beat the sun!?

Before being stunned together, Rosa returns it in fluent exotic language.

No, it sounds fluent, but it's also a mix of words Faye doesn't understand, so, again, maybe it's not about proficiency either.

Rosa glanced at Faye with tear-moistened purple eyes, screaming.

'Oh, my God, Faye! This, silly! Shh! The god painter is not stupid because of God! So my fool! Let me take responsibility!

I totally don't understand what she's saying.

Perhaps you remember the wrong way to use words.

While Faye, completely distracted, was troubled by the response, Rosa went into surprising behavior.

I grabbed my shoulder angry and approached the winter pond,

- Zabu!

Oh, my God, he jumped in without hesitation.