Cornwall Ⅱ Power

　　March 11, 1960, Bricstow Stadt, Nation Of Cornwall.

　　Abigail looked at The airship docked at Bricstow Castle, its silver hull gleaming in the afternoon sun. The passengers disembarked, eager to stretch their legs after the long journey from Berlin. The airship, designed by Cornish engineers, was a symbol of innovation and progress. It was a stark contrast to the decaying streets of the capital.

　　Bricstow Stadt High Scol No. 5's headmistress, Matron Lleucu, stood on the steps of the school, her face lined with concern. She had received word of the imminent arrival of the German delegation, and she knew that their presence would be a source of controversy. As the school bell rang, all the students gathered in the playground. Matron Lleucu addressed them: "Today, we are hosting a delegation from Germany. I expect you to be on your best behavior, and to represent the school and the Nation of Cornwall with pride. Any misbehavior will result in a week of detention."

　　The students murmured among themselves, eager for the chance to meet the Germans. Matron Lleucu raised her hand, and the students fell silent. Abigail closed her legs tightly. She knew the sound of the radio was coming next. She was numb to the loud announcement on the playground, and her only impression was to wake herself up. The next broadcast should have been another denunciation of fascism.

　　'Great Cornish people, great Anglo-Saxon people!'

　　As the broadcasts went on, after the Cornish National Party removed the English identity, they copied everything from Nazi Germany. Abigail thought. That the girls were dressed in a variation on the German Girls League uniform, and the boys wore gray pants and a blue shirt.

　　'The evil, unjust and anti-human Italian fascists have held barbaric military exercises in South Tyrol again. They are oppressing our German compatriots on the territory they stole from our German nation in World War I!'

　　The girls were already marching, shouting, while the boys were chanting, "Fuhrer! Fuhrer!" Abigail, along with the rest of the children, was shouting, "Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!"

　　Matron Lleucu watched the spectacle, her heart heavy. She knew that the German government was trying to win support among the Cornish, and she feared that the indoctrination of the schoolchildren was a sign of things to come. This kind of education is called 'black education'.

　　The girls' chorus echoed: "We are the forthcoming. we are the forthcoming. we are the forthcoming..."

　　As the chorus repeated the words, Abigail began to feel sick. She hated this indoctrination. But that's only a tiny minority, because when you accept the same narrative from cradle to grave, that set of ideas becomes imprinted on your behavior like an ideological stamp, forcing you to conform even if you're not interested.

　　Matron Lleucu raised her arms, and the chanting stopped. The children looked at her, their faces shining with excitement.

　　'This is not the first time that the bundleriken bundleriker italian dright has attacked our Deutsch compatriots in south tyrol. one day, when the world war breaks out, you will be the forthcoming and hope!'

　　(This is not the first time that the fascist Italian army has attacked our German compatriots in South Tyrol. One day, when the world war breaks out, you will be the future and hope!)

　　The students cheered and applauded. Abigail's hands were clapping automatically, even though her mind was far away. After this absurd situation ends, Everyone began to disperse and return to their dormitories or homes. Abigail carried her schoolbag and went to the parking lot to get her bicycle. She couldn't wait to leave.

　　"Hey, Abigail, Wait!"

　　Abigail stopped and turned. Her friend, Anne, was running towards her. She was carrying a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolate. Anne handed her the bouquet and the chocolate. "The boy gave it to me. I didn't want it, so I gave it to you." She rested her chin on Abigail's right shoulder.

　　"Thanks." Abigail didn't feel like asking why. "Do you want to ride on my bike? Ann."

　　Anne agreed. The two of them got on the bicycle, and Abigail pushed the pedals. They cycled to the town center. "Abby, why do you never say where you live after lorehall?" Anne asked.

　　"Because I come from a rural area and the conditions of the place I rent are not very good." Abigail replied.

　　"Truly? are your elders farmers?"

　　"Yes, and they have a small dairy farm. My mother is pregnant."

　　"Wow, Abby, you're going to have a younger sibling! You're so lucky." Anne's expression was envious.

　　"Actually, I think it's better for them not to have any more children." Abigail slowed down on the downhill slope. "Are you going home or somewhere else?"

　　"Home." Anne answered. Abigail nodded. She was not surprised. Most girls were looking forward to going home, because at home they were pampered by their parents. However, in reality, the family environment was not as peaceful as it appeared. Anne's father worked for the Cornish National Party and frequently beat his daughter.

　　"My parents are not home. If you don't mind, come to my house for a while." Abigail suggested. Anne's eyes lit up. Abigail arrived at the apartment and parked her bike. "Please come in." She unlocked the door and led the way.

　　Abigail's house was cozy. There was a sofa, a television, and a vase full of flowers. Anne looked around the room, admiring the tasteful décor. "Your house is so lovely."

　　Abigail smiled. "You wouldn't think so if you knew what it cost me. What do you want to do?"

　　"Let's watch TV." Anne suggested.

　　They sat down on the sofa and started flipping through the channels. Abigail found a documentary about the Nazis. The narrator's voice was deep and resonant. "boring." Anne complained. Abigail switched to a soap opera. The female protagonist was crying. "boring." Anne rejected. Abigail continued to flip through the channels, but there was nothing interesting to watch.

　　"Let me know, your TV's moon pan should be fit to pick up canadian channels?" Anne suggested.

　　Abigail shrugged. She had never tried.

　　"let me try." Anne took the remote control and began to tweak the antenna. After a few minutes, the screen suddenly became bright.

　　Abigail warned her. "Illegal reception and viewing of foreign television programs, especially those in Canada, will result in a ten-year prison sentence."

　　"Chill out, Abby. Don't you want to know what's happening outside?" Anne continued to adjust the antenna. After a while, the picture was clear and the sound could be heard.

　　"This is the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. We're bringing you live coverage of the funeral service for Prime Minister John Diefenbaker."

　　Abigail's jaw dropped.

　　"Prime Minister John Diefenbaker, who was considered one of the most important figures in Canadian history, died yesterday." Anne immediately changed the channel again, This time it's an adult channel.

　　"Anne, switch it off!" Abigail shouted.

　　"Why? Let's watch it."

　　"Do you think we are the same age as the characters in the movie? It's porn." Abigail massages her eyes. "Please close!"

　　Anne rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay." She turned off the TV.

　　"My god, Mr. Diefenbaker died." Abigail said.

　　"Yes, he died due to cerebral hemorrhage. Should we observe three minutes of silence for the old Canadian? Hold! This is so boring!"

　　Abigail could see that Anne was annoyed. "Ann, don't be angry. I really want to go to Canada someday."

　　"You and your dream. You are a dotty. Do you know how much a visa outlays? moreover, the american world ashes closed to us in the European Fay. Do you still believe in your dreams?"

　　Abigail didn't reply. She knew the truth.

　　"Anne, how did you know?"

　　"I'm not dumb. My father works for the Cornish Theedish Gathering. I can tell you something that you don't know. Are you interested in wearing jeans and minting drugs?"

　　"what the hell? Aren't those things banned throughout Europe?"

　　"Yes, they are banned. But, who cares? Life is so boring. I think life should be more gripping. I'm not saying we should follow the trend. But, if we keep our eyes and ears open, we can see that things are shifing."

　　Annie rose from her seat, her eyes meeting Abigail's. "I'm going on a dealmark, Abby, but I've never kissed a boy before," she confessed, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. "Would you help me practice?"

　　Abigail was taken aback. "Are you sure, Annie?" she asked, seeking confirmation.

　　Annie nodded, her determination evident. "Yes, Abby. I trust you."

　　Abigail studied Annie's face, her eyes lingering on her lips. "Alright, but just one," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper.

　　Their lips met in a gentle kiss, a moment of shared trust and friendship. Annie responded, their connection deepening. When they finally broke apart, Annie looked at Abigail, her eyes shining with gratitude. "How was it?" she asked.

　　Abigail smiled, her heart warmed by the trust Annie had placed in her. "It was nice, Annie."

　　Annie's face lit up at the response. "Good. Now I can tell the boys that I've had my first kiss."

　　Abigail smiled. Her cheeks flushed. She had always been a shy person. "I have to go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I'm going to throw up."

　　Abigail locked herself in the bathroom, her reflection in the mirror a stranger. The weight of her actions pressed upon her, the uncertainty of right and wrong mingling with the sting of cold water on her face. Had Annie orchestrated this? The question lingered, unanswered.

　　The incident remained a silent specter between them, unspoken as they lost themselves in the forbidden episodes of "Star Trek." Their shared dreams of space travel filled the void, a temporary escape from the gravity of their reality. When the credits rolled, it was time for Anne to depart.

　　"Promise me, Ann. This stays between us, And don't tell anyone, especially your father," Abigail implored. With a solemn nod, Ann sealed the secret, and their farewell hung heavy in the air.

　　Once alone, Abigail received a surprising call from Henry Pomeroy, an old acquaintance. He invited her over for dinner at his place, which she accepted.

　　Henry's residence loomed on the outskirts of Bricstow, a testament to his late-sixties grandeur. Recognized by the guard, Abigail was ushered through the gates at precisely 8 pm.

　　"Delighted to see you, Abigail," Henry greeted her with a warmth that belied the chill of the evening. "Dinner awaits."

　　The aroma of steak and mashed potatoes-a favorite of Henry's-promised a comforting meal. As they dined, the conversation meandered to politics, a topic as treacherous as the steak was tender.

　　"The German influence is growing, even here in Cornwall," Abigail observed, sipping her wine.

　　Henry nodded, his gaze distant. "Ever since the Munich Peace Treaty, there's been a shift. The German-Italian rivalry, once veiled, is now open and volatile."

　　Abigail's mind raced with the implications. "It's a precarious balance. With both nations armed, the threat of chaos looms large."

　　Henry raised his glass in a mock toast. "Yet, they're deterred by mutual destruction. Atomic weapons ensure a fragile peace."

　　Abigail countered, "But Italy's military might and Germany's economic engine could tip the scales."

　　"That's right," Henry agreed. "Since the signing of the Munich Peace Treaty in 1950, Nazi Germany and its protectorates have criticized Italy without naming it. After Nazi Germany and Italy dissolved their military alliance in 1953, the two countries resumed their border confrontation. In 1956, Germany demanded that all European countries establish a single market and adopt the mark as a common currency, which led to Italy, Spain, and Portugal signing the Treaty of Rome to establish the Mediterranean Concordat."

　　"This is just the beginning," Abigail said. "With the German-Italian confrontation intensifying, I'm afraid that Europe will fall into chaos again."

　　"But what if it doesn't?" Sir Henry raised his glass. "Germany and Italy both have atomic weapons, no way."

　　"But the Italians have the most sophisticated and powerful military equipment and a large population, while the Germans have the strongest economy and industry," Abigail countered.

　　Sir Henry nodded, conceding the point. "But still not, boy, I founded the Cornish National Party in 1949. What I know is that no one in power has ever sacrificed themselves."

　　Abigail nodded. Henry Pomeroy, the founder of the Cornish National Party, was a English Traitor. He is a traitor because he betrayed the United Kingdom. It's no surprise, after all, that's what the fascists and Nazis are for.

　　"Abigail, what I have to say is that the German and Italian governments are just using their people. They use them for their own political purposes. The real power is in the hands of the few."

　　Abigail frowned. "But how do you explain the fact that the Germans and Italians have nuclear weapons? They were developed by scientists who believed in the ideals of National Socialism."

　　Sir Henry sighed. "You're right, Abigail. But you're forgetting that these people are not the same. It's not important, let's talk about our business."

　　Abigail, sensing the shift in the conversation, nodded.

　　"Do you know why I asked you to come today?"

　　"I can guess, but I'm not sure."

　　"Well, Some girls can climb to the top of the mountain at a young age, and some are foolish enough to marry poor people."

　　Abigail's heart raced. She was unsure whether to continue the conversation.

　　The conversation paused, a lull before the storm. Henry's next words were an offer cloaked in ambition. "Join me, Abigail. The Cornish National Party needs you. And become my adopted daughter, I can give you some help. Your talent is very obvious."

　　Her heart skipped a beat. This was more than a dinner-it was a recruitment. Henry's intentions were clear, his offer a crossroads for her future. This is an opportunity that many young women would kill for. "What's the benefit?"

　　"Some privilege and wealth, but you will be treated as fruit."

　　"But, I'm just 17 years old. How can you make such a decision?"

　　"Don't worry. Some men just like you, and so would I if I were younger."

　　Abigail felt her throat tighten. This is a chance she can't miss. "If you don't mind, I accept the offer. Thank you, Mr. Pomeroy."

　　Sir Henry laughed, "Good, My Dear. What are the features of a fruit plate?"

　　Abigail's brow furrowed, "No sex."

　　"Right, but not no, not a virgin. It is impossible for a 17-year-old girl not to have sexual intercourse, and a fruit must not lose her virginity until the wedding night. The important thing is that anyone can taste the fruit, but only by extending their hand. This is the most important."

　　Abigail swallowed hard. This arrangement was not as appealing as she had first thought. She wasn't sure she could handle the constant temptation. "But, Mr. Pomeroy, isn't this a violation of the law?"

　　"We, the National Party, are the law, and the law is us. We don't need a legal system, just discipline. We have a motto: 'One hand is extended, the other hand is withdrawn.' The idea is that everyone can have a taste, but no one can have the whole. If you accept then go to my bedroom and talk in detail."

　　Abigail stood up, her knees weak. She had just made a decision that would change her life. Sir Henry opened the door and led Abigail to the room. Abigail, who was already used to the old man's smell, didn't care. As the door closed, a feeling of helplessness washed over her.

　　Sir Henry's bedroom was spacious, with a large bed and an en suite bathroom. The walls were adorned with portraits of Hitler and his own portrait, a reminder of the party's allegiance. The bedsheets were immaculate, a stark contrast to the dirty, dingy atmosphere.

　　Sir Henry took a step towards Abigail, his intentions clear. He wanted her, and he was not going to stop until he had her.

　　"Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go through with this. I'm not ready," Abigail stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

　　"But, my dear, you agreed to this. You can think about it carefully first. I am very forgiving." Sir Henry's hand slid up Abigail's arm, resting on her shoulder. He squeezed gently, his fingers leaving indentations in her skin.

　　Abigail flinched, her eyes widening in shock. "Sir, please. I'm not a whore."

　　"Oh, my dear, We could be foster parents, which is what some of my friends in London do. Don't worry, think about it, you're not the only girl doing this. You're not special."

　　Sir Henry's words echoed in Abigail's mind. He was right, she wasn't the only one doing this. Many young women were offered similar opportunities. "What do I get?"

　　Sir Henry smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He had won, and he knew it. "Money, prestige, and power. You can have it all. You're a beautiful girl. Why waste it on poor farmers and ranchers? You can be a lady."

　　"Sir, I don't know, it sounds too good to be true."

　　"Because you are lucky and beautiful, and beauty is your weapon and my reward, I can even give you a letter of recommendation from Oxford or Cambridge. People will know that you are a loyal fascist party member and patriot in Cornwall, and a feminist political Home, a top student at Oxford or Cambridge, my student or adopted daughter. Who would know about us?" Sir Henry sat on the edge of the bed with a kind smile, but said exactly the opposite.

　　Abigail swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had to make a decision. Sir Henry's offer was tempting, but she wasn't sure if she could live with herself knowing she had used her body to gain an advantage.

　　Abigail took a deep breath and exhaled. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't accept your offer. I'm not the kind of girl who can use her body to get ahead."

　　Sir Henry's expression darkened, his eyes betraying his anger. "You should have thought of that before agreeing to this, My Dear. You can't back out now. I have already invested in you. You received gifts and housing from me, and this is how you repay me?"

　　Abigail felt her heart rate increase. She had to think fast. She couldn't lose this opportunity. "Sir, please. I'm sorry. I can't do this. I'm not ready. Let me go home and think about it for a few days, I really don't know what to do."

　　Sir Henry's expression softened. "My dear, I understand your feelings, but I can't let you leave. This is your chance. You must know that the SS once investigated the hymens of all girls admitted through recommendation letters in a famous university. More than 90% of the girls had lost their virginity in the recent period before admission."

　　(This data is a real-life physical examination adjustment before admission to a certain university in China.)

　　Abigail was shocked, her heart pounding. The thought of being investigated by the SS terrified her. She had to do something, but she didn't know what.

　　"My dear, don't worry, the SS can't come into my house. And, the party doesn't need the SS's help, so you don't need to be afraid. We are the law." Sir Henry's hands gripped Abigail's arms. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "My Dear, this is your chance. Don't let it slip away. Think about your parents, they don't know what will happen tomorrow."

　　Abigail closed her eyes, her mind racing. She had to make a decision, but she wasn't sure what to do. She knew her parents would support her no matter what she decided, but she couldn't bear the thought of disappointing them. "This is a threat?"

　　Sir Henry nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's okay, My Dear. Only by submitting to authority can you gain power. Power is omnipotent, and justice achieves nothing."

　　"But, sir, isn't that what the fascists stand for? Isn't justice an important principle?"

　　"Of course, but justice is a means, not an end. You can achieve a lot more with power. Power comes from rewards and punishments that others hope or fear."

　　Abigail's shoulders sagged, her eyes downcast. She knew Sir Henry was right, but she didn't know if she could live with herself.

　　"My Dear, you will have everything you want. Just do what you have to do. And I will be your guardian, father, and teacher. You will have everything."

　　Abigail felt trapped, her mind racing. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, and there was no easy way out. She knew Sir Henry would not let her go without a fight, and she was not strong enough to resist him. "What would happen if I said no?"

　　Sir Henry's grip tightened. "Then you will be declared mentally ill or a sociopath and sent to a mental hospital. After the Night Fog Law was revoked, the SS used these reasons to arrest people into 'mental hospitals.' Your family would be arrested. Do you really want to risk it?"

　　Abigail knew she didn't have a choice. "Has anyone been done this?"

　　"Yes, many of the girls have been successful. Some are the adopted daughters of the National Party members and have been admitted to Cambridge or Oxford University. Some have married into the upper class and are very happy. Of course, there are idiots. A regional councilor of the National Party of Brittany called three female civil servants to serve. Two of them were obedient, while the other woman resisted and shouted arrogant words such as calling the police. The district councilor directly asked the security guards to pin her down on her desk, and then asked the security guards to drag her to the security dormitory."

　　"What happened then?"

　　"They had her for 48 hours and raped her. Then the stupid woman went crazy, and the regional councilor is now running for election in Brittany. law? A piece of waste paper."

　　Abigail's heart sank, her hopes for a peaceful life shattered. Sir Henry was right, the law was a farce. "But, sir, aren't there any other ways?"

　　"My Dear, You can go home and think about it. Anyway, Cornwall implements internal passports and bans immigration, so I'm not worried about you."

　　"I'm going to go, sir."

　　"You will never get another chance like this, My Dear." Sir Henry opened the door, a smirk on his face. "In three days, I hope to have a good answer."

　　The door slammed shut, and Abigail was alone. She slumped against the wall, her thoughts racing. She was faced with an impossible choice.