The past story
The next day.
As the first rays of the morning sun swept across the sky, piercing through the cracks in the curtains and silently brushing every corner of the room, it seemed to deliberately avoid the small, isolated dark room located in the depths of the gloom.
Within this claustrophobic space.
The only thing that was left was a faint glimmer of light that was tenaciously squeezed in from the mottled cracks in the walls.
It was as if it was nature's last consolation, striving to find life in the midst of this dreariness and despair.
Lisbeth Dawson huddled in a corner of the room.
The world around her was an endless darkness and silence to her.
Her face, tightly covered by a rough black blindfold.
Depriving her of the right to observe her surroundings.
Her mouth, on the other hand, was tightly gagged by a piece of cloth, preventing her from even the most basic of cries.
Her limbs were bound solidly by tough ropes.
Being still for a long period of time made her body feel like it was being pricked by millions of needles, and the soreness came on like a tidal wave.
It was almost unbearable for her.
In the midst of this helplessness and pain, Lisbeth Dawson could only let out a low, muffled whimper.
However, this weak cry was swallowed up by this dead silence and no one could hear it.
Just as despair was spreading.
A sudden "thud" broke the silence.
The door of the room was roughly kicked open.
Accompanied by the sound of wood shavings flying, a breath of fresh air instantly rushed into the cage.
However.
There was only one intruder this time -
That mysterious man.
He slowly crouched down.
The tall body, in the dimness, looked particularly majestic.
Until his face was within inches of Lisbeth Dawson's.
The man's fingers, gently lifted a strand of her long, loose hair.
Bringing it close to the tip of his nose.
Deeply inhale the unique fragrance belonging to Lisbeth Dawson.
The corner of his mouth, then raised a playful and deep smile.
That smile contained a charm and danger.
"Want to go out from here?"
The man's voice, low and magnetic.
Like the most seductive whisper under the night.
Lisbeth Dawson vaguely caught a certain familiar echo in the voice.
But, the thought was fleeting.
Without unnecessary hesitation in the face of this sudden hope, she nodded her head vigorously on instinct alone.
Though that movement was limited by the restraints and seemed rather difficult.
The man saw this.
The curve of his mouth, became even more gentle.
The sound of his laughter, as if it was a melody lilting in the distance, was pleasing to the ear.
But to Lisbeth Dawson's ears, this laughter was like a call from the abyss, carrying a certain unknown.
Just as she was puzzled.
The man's words were like a warm spring breeze blowing away the winter cold:
"I'll take you away."
Before the words left his mouth, he quickly and forcefully picked up Lisbeth Dawson's entire body.
It was like caring for a precious treasure.
Stepping towards the bright world outside the door.
At that moment.
Lisbeth Dawson felt her body being lifted up by an unfamiliar but strong force.
Lisbeth Dawson's heart was violently tightened.
His sudden behaviour was the opposite of the coldness that had ordered the indifferent woman to inflict merciless torture on her last night.
She couldn't help but speculate.
Behind this sudden intimacy, was there a deeper and more sinister intention hidden?
Could it be that this is just another storm before it comes.
Is it just a short and false calm before another storm?
This man's mind is like a fog, hard to catch.
Without any hesitation, he picked Lisbeth Dawson up and carried her straight through the long, dark corridor to the bedroom.
"Tsk, tsk, that's filthy."
His tone was like a chastisement, but also seemed to be a little pampered.
Without waiting for any reaction from Lisbeth Dawson, an irresistible force pushed her toward the bathroom.
Until she was under the spray of cold water.
In a flash.
Ice cold water, like a waterfall pouring down.
It pierced through her clothes.
Instantly, soaking every inch of her skin.
"Ugh, Ugh, Ugh!"
Lisbeth Dawson cringed at the sudden chill.
Her eyes were a blur.
The only sound around her was the sound of cold water lapping uncontrollably.
The air was already tinged with a slight chill in the late autumn.
Wet clothes, like heavy shackles, wrapped tightly around the body.
It brought a piercing cold and discomfort.
Almost suffocating her.
Percy Spencer looked at Lisbeth Dawson in front of her.
Thoughts, however, seemed to be swept back to the distant past by an invisible wind.
The headache was excruciating.It was as if something important was struggling to break free from the bonds of memory.
It was a picture from a long time ago.
A girl clad in long dark hair, standing under the warm sunlight, holy as an angel.
He remembered every detail of her clearly.
Except, her face.
This missing memory became an unfillable gap in his heart.
When did he start to have different feelings for her?
It seemed like a long time ago.
So long that even the outline of time became blurred.
In stark contrast, there was this deep-minded girl in front of her.
Despite her pretty face, she looked like she was hiding a sharp dagger, ready to stab at the heart.
Percy Spencer's memories were once again drawn back to the scene of their first encounter.
It was at her birthday party.
She was like a child, her face covered in cream.
In her eyes, there was a glint of innocence.
With that silly look, even the uninitiated self back then couldn't help but be attracted to her.
At that time he.
Perhaps he didn't understand what deception was.
Just simply impressed by that innocence.
I don't know.
On the chessboard of fate, everything has been arranged long ago.
The first time she spoke out against him, exactly in what year and month, which inadvertent moment?
Oh.
That's right.
That memory gradually became clearer in his mind.
Ever since that chance encounter.
Her figure, then, like a gentle breeze, quietly and unobtrusively burrowed into the bottom of his heart.
Thus, he began to quietly and secretly visit her hut.
Sometimes, he would choose to climb the fence in the night.
As carefully as an explorer.
And other times.
He would deftly climb over the edge of a high window just to catch a glimpse of her.
All this, hidden in the shadows.
That day.
The very evening he chose to climb over the wall and enter.
The setting sun's afterglow spilled over the brick wall, adding a touch of unreal warmth to this act of voyeurism.
However.
Fate didn't seem to intend for this action to go smoothly for him.
Just as he was moving slowly with his hands and feet, keeping close to the wall, an accident happened-
One foot didn't step firmly.
His whole body lost its balance.
Like a kite with broken strings, he fell straight down.
As if it was an arrangement from the underworld.
He fell heavily on Lisbeth Dawson's body.
His own body, pressed tightly on top of the body of the girl he loved.
His cheeks, involuntarily, were coloured with scarlet.
It spread all the way to the roots of his ears.
The shyness caused him to be at a loss for words.
"I, I ... am really sorry for making you hurt, your knee broke the skin, it must be very painful ..."