The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 89 Ch.88 Kate and Marissa Part 6

Some fog seeps out of the old footage.

The jumps in the clips are also getting bigger and bigger.

Roland watched quietly.

From the delicate little mechanism in the dance shoes - the nails that emerge after being stepped on hard, to the blood-stained stage, to the exclamations and fear, to the rumors and malice.

These images jump with Kate Pacetti's thoughts, lighter and faster than her steps on the stage, covering one layer after another.

She took him deeper into the darker backstage, to the cake covered with cream, the dance shoes and silk stockings that fell off.

Playful toes and hairy hands.

Kate Pacetti laughed softly, laughing as she ran away.

In the warm room she walked on soft rugs, around the shore table and the burning candles.

She was about to get caught.

He chuckled, unhurriedly taking off his shoulders, but tightening his cuffs and collar, like a deer in the forest, running away while turning his head to tease the hunter chasing him with his eyes.

"Come on! Philip!"

Philip Chandson unbuttoned his collar.

She listened with pleasure to his rapid breathing, to seeing him pounce like a hound rather than a hunter, to see that he was disheveled, and that he was speaking absurd words--those crude words that even an inferior person could not utter. At this moment, it is like thick and sticky honey on a pastry, between the lips and tongue of the prey and the hound.

She liked his eyes chasing after her, and she was happy to pretend to be frightened, and then, she avoided being caught by him.

She twisted around, from curling up, to stretching, to hugging.

In his sight she saw the flag of attack and heard the sound of the trumpet.

She floats on the waves.

Not long after, I seemed to see my mother again.

Her life came to a halt.

Her emotions became sacred.

No breathing.

Her quietly dilated pupils were only vaguely paying attention to the uneven candlelights in the room. They were burning into a ball, and the red halo was like a fireball that was not hot, making her whole body warm.

She could smell everything now, and had as good a sense of smell as Miss Paton.

The man's sweat dripped on his face, and there was the smell of ink on his forehead;

His armpits smelled of rotten onions that were overly rotten but particularly charming;

He also has many complex smells that make the children in the ditch curious. What was once a heavy oppression is now a weight on the other side of the scale, lifting Kate Pacetti high:

From now on, she can sit in that chair too.

Eyes grew out of her chin to see people.

Real eyes are used to see other people.

She was different.

This is obviously much simpler than climbing some technical peak.

"You are so beautiful."

Jazz ruffled her sweaty hair, which hung around her face and forehead.

She smiled sweetly back.

"You are as brave as a knight."

She talked to him in a low voice, and waited until her body became cold and the room warmed up before they separated.

"I don't want a woman to show up on stage all the time. Look what you are all wearing." The stocky man climbed off the bed, hooked the torn costume with his toes and kicked it away, his words mixed with dissatisfaction and dissatisfaction. dislike.

"I think you like it very much." Kate Pacetti rested her head on her arms, lying on the bed and looking at his back.

She has grown taller, matured a lot, is full of charm, and her words are also thorny: "Now you are annoying again?"

"It's different now than it was before."

Philip Chandson rubbed his big hands, and several gemstone rings shone in the candlelight, "I will not find a woman who will embarrass me everywhere."

He turned back to look at the woman on the bed. After the intense private emotions and drumbeats, he turned back into a rational and shrewd jazz man.

His eyes were squeezed very small by drooping eyelids, and were as dim as candlelight.

"You have to make a choice, Kate."

choose.

It's a choice again.

This is the second important choice in Kate Pacetti's life.

Unlike the first time when she was hysterical for countless nights, this time she was familiar with the process.

At ten minutes past midnight, after the people around me have gone to sleep.

The woman went downstairs barefoot, carefully holding a candlestick, and waited at the door.

Until there was a knock on the door that was almost drowned in the sound of the wind.

She opened the door and welcomed in the visitor and the howling wind - but she did not accept the long, wide hand again.

She had her arms behind her back and her head held high, elegant and proud.

The white mask was exactly the same as when we first saw it, spotless.

"We need to finish...sir."

Hazy shadows swayed in the semi-dark living room. It tilted its head and made a "click" sound, very confused.

The woman took a half step forward.

It just goes backwards.

"That's it for now, understand?"

It tried to hold Pasetti's hand, its waist was broken, and it snaked its way toward her back—but the woman pushed it back a few steps.

"Don't come here again! I don't need your help - no! I don't remember any agreement, and I have never made any agreement with you!"

Pasetti turned his head to look in the direction of the stairs with some sensitivity, and continued to lower his voice: "From today on, don't come to me again... Do you understand?"

"I'm going to be the eldest man's woman..."

Shadow said he didn't understand and was gesticulating.

"...That's not an agreement. It's just something you say casually. Who will take it seriously? I'm warning you, don't come to me again!"

Shadow was pushed back toward the door.

Pasetti opened the door.

The icy cold wind blew away the warm air.

The dark shadow became more and more anxious, and the movements of its hands and feet became more and more exaggerated:

‘Promise! ’

it says.

'Art! ’

it says.

'peak! ’

it says.

'desire! ’

it says.

However, Pasetti just pushed it out again and again - after pushing it out completely, he locked the door tightly.

"…Feel sorry."

She leaned against the door, her thin lips dry, and she murmured wordlessly: "...I regretted it."

Knock knock——

knocking.

Knock knock knock——

As the knocks on the door continued, Pasetti's expression became more and more frightened.

She cannot, must not lose this happy destiny that is within easy reach...

The sullen woman picked up the burnt candlestick and went upstairs barefoot.

The cold flesh slipped into the goose down quilt.

His half-asleep hound, Mr. Philip, turned over and murmured in his sleep: "I... seemed to hear something, my dear..."

Passetti supported his upper body and held the hound's head in his arms. His eyes were staring at the picture of a woman on the wall indifferently, and his voice was gentle: "Nothing, my knight. Go to sleep, go to sleep quickly..."

She coaxed for a while.

If you listen carefully, the knocking on the door seems to have disappeared.

but…

This doesn't solve the problem.

She had to find a way.

Find a way to completely get rid of the hand that will only drag her back into that purgatory-like world - although this hand once pulled her out of the mire.

She is noble, rich, and admirable.

People like her should never have anything to do with monsters.

She quietly contemplated her future.

The pendulum swings again and again.

suddenly.

In the darkness, those indifferent eyeballs turned rapidly——

She turned her head quickly.

He met Roland's gaze.

The screen is cracked.