I Am Troubled That My Fiance Is a Villain

The next day, brilliantly, I caught a cold.

I forgot to tell you, my flesh is very weak.

I'm just a little but confident in the lack of immunity I've worked out in my pull cage life. I can't get my chest up at all, but I'm going to live with masochistic confidence.

Repeat a shallow sleep and awakening with your nose snarling and snarling into the blanket.

Lost contour of time, my body and consciousness, someone appeared on my pillow as I kept drifting fluffy through my dreams in heat.

He was a gentle but somewhere lonely, eye-catching man. Purple hair has long collar legs and a strong habit of hair tips bouncing in circles.

"How can I wake up from this dream?

That's what he asked me. He smiled like trouble and put his hands gently on his forehead.

To my forehead, which emits heat, his hands were too cold and seemed like ice or marble.

"You should sleep. And if you wake up, you'll forget you were even dreaming."

She told me she'd forget, and I missed her a little why.

There can't be one thing you live in this world and don't want to forget, and there's no way you can continue to do it.

A grain of tears spilled out of my eyes.

He opened his eyes a little surprised and wiped my tears with his index finger.

I suddenly woke up to switch on.

Sleeping well or just a little neat on the head.

Instead, the stiffened joints were painful because they were just a little dizzy.

What time is it?

The white wallpaper in the room is dyed orange at sunset as it plugs through the window.

It was still hard to get up, so when I moved my neck only towards the window, my eyes met. I thought I had eyes for you, but I don't know if you really did because of your long forehead.

The boy, sitting on a chair by the bed though, grinned when he realized what had happened to me.

"Good morning, sister"

"Trespassing!

I shouted so loudly that I could flourish.

It wasn't like doing it in your sleeping throat, but that's bad for a trespassing boy.

The boy hastily grated the board he had put up on his lap and handed me the water. Receive it hard and still manage to drink it up.

When I was comfortable, I sneered at the boy.

But the boy tries to water an empty cup in such a way as where the wind blows.

"Fine, I don't want it"

"I'm awake, and you should drink a lot of water when you have a cold"

"I'd rather you tell me why you're here than bean knowledge like that"

The boy came to thank me as I teased his embarrassed forehead.

"But I haven't heard back from you at all, so I thought maybe you were down"

"Didn't you think he was out?

"Outing?"

Stop. You look like you heard that impossible word.

As much as I can't possibly go out, I know myself best!

"I thought it was bad, but when I went inside, I heard a voice that looked painful, so I just thought I shouldn't go in the bedroom, but I knew I was going to be very painful, and I don't have one of my maids here, so I thought I'd see her instead of thanking her..."

Because it's something to say all the time, the boy would have liked to have said something like that to guess from what he could barely hear.

"Can you speak a little more clearly and concisely?

"... sorry"

"I'm not mad at you."

It's a tough way to say it, and it makes the boy even more constricted.

I sighed and gently pulled out my body's strength.

Then it looks like I'm bullying you.

"I appreciate you seeing me, but I need to catch a cold, so go home soon."

When I told him to be as gentle a way as possible, the boy looked up all the time and seemed happy for some reason.

"It's okay. Because I'm sturdy."

"I often say to a little front-haired kid younger than me."

"I'll be bigger than my sister soon."

"... you know, why don't you stop calling me sister?

"Why?"

Even if they say it in such a strange way, they won't have a choice because they don't like what they don't like.

Every time they call me a sister or something, my body gets itchy.

"Sure, I know I'm your sister on the registry, but I honestly have trouble getting my sister called by someone I haven't even spoken to properly until yesterday"

"Then what am I supposed to call you?

I couldn't answer that question properly.

Now I have the name Emilia, but the answer is no if you ask me if it will stick as my name.

But now I couldn't come up with anything else worthy of a nomenclature, so I just had to say I should normally call it by name.

"Okay, Emilia"

Because it's been a long time since someone called me by my name, or I felt like the boy's soft high voice before the voice-changing would always sound behind my ears.

The boy who helped me get my body up on the bed told me yesterday after he returned from away.

When he told me there was a sweep of the punch, as I was told, Miffy hurried back to the room, apparently. I heard gossip from inside, so I waited a little while before storming into the room, and they said the board behind the closet was off and there was a previous loot there.

In the gap Miffy is pokanning, the boy says he called his maid out loud to help him recover his stuff.

Apparently some of the loot had been stolen from the boy and Miffy's brother, or eldest son. People steal it and hide it. You're a fucking kid.

Miffy's guilt thus became known all over the mansion, and he was scolded so badly by his father that night. It would have been a good study.

"Heh, good for you."

The boy suddenly looks serious when I say that he says he has done well with his advice and feels better easily understandable.

"Isn't Emilia really a witch?

"You do fancy things again..."

Were you a snow fairy yesterday?

How dare you be a fairy or a witch, something I can say that embarrasses me very seriously. I haven't done anything like that yet.

But I can't really get used to this world.

"Well, maybe I'm not mistaken."

When he grumbles like that in a masochistic way, the boy shouts, uh, loudly.

You look timid, you're actually trying to be fat, and then your dreams are proper or pure?

Totally weird kid.

"Speaking of which, what's that like a board I just had?

The boy solidified with a short eh, like saying he was asked what he didn't want to be asked this time.

"Like I can't show you?

When I stare, my twitching face turns red and my behavior becomes obviously suspicious.

I wasn't interested in it either, though, so if I really didn't want to show it, I wasn't going to pursue it any further, but I decided to wait for him to decide even though I thought it would be a pain in the ass because the boy would look shy and show a bare gesture that I would like him to see.

The boy, whose face turned bright red like an octopus after waiting for awhile, offered off the board he had hidden at his feet as an aside.

What I thought was a board was a drawing board, or a piece of paper was pinched, and that piece of paper depicted a woman sitting in the garden as a pencil or charcoal.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I was a woman of two years' worth of student art, so I have no idea about paintings, but I still know enough that I can draw them better than I think my kids did.

In a snowy garden, the woman sits staring at the distance with her dreamy eyes. She's a beautiful woman, but she looks familiar somewhere. Does it resemble any of the actresses?

I was going to smell the cold air and winter from the surface of the painting.

"You're good. It's beautiful, and I feel a little lonely... I'm not sure about the painting or anything, but I think I like it"

"Really!?

When he heard my words, the boy was glad to jump out of the chair.

"Good! I painted Emilia on my own, so I got angry or whimpered."

"Ah! This, me!

I didn't know because I tried not to see much of myself. It looks familiar.

Seriously looking back at whether this was what I looked like from the boy, strangely there was nothing like the disgust I always had.

"... I knew you were bad"

"No, no! It's not like you didn't know because you're bad at it, is it? Because I didn't think you could paint yourself."

"I don't know, I've never seen anyone prettier than Emilia."

"Ooh..."

I can swim my eyes slightly without being able to return it well because I have a communal disorder.

My appearance in this world is certainly dramatic before-after, but this was the first time I could be praised for my appearance in this way because I was zero on people.

"Hey, Emilia, can I come back tomorrow?

With a gentle hesitation, the boy told him to reveal his secret.

I dropped my gaze on the painting as I held it and cruised it.

Quiet, it doesn't change my desire to live without touching anyone and not being remembered by anyone.

But he's a child, and he's my brother for once.

Still, there's nothing more ridiculous than telling you not to come to me.

"If you bring me a souvenir, I might not throw you back."

The boy then came after noon every day to immerse himself in my separation until dinner time. Bring a little treat or fruit as a souvenir to discipline.

"Doesn't it piss you off to come here every day?

It was the fourth day, or when I was frightened, the boy sketched with painting tools he took back from Hate Miffy,

"Because I can't do it."

"Can't do it?"

The boy did not speak any more and smiled lonely.

The tiny conscience in me hurts with a grin that is not like a child.

I guess one of these days I'll be tired of not coming here, and I don't need to go into any more boy situations. I made that excuse and didn't listen any deeper.

When the boy came every day, he drew a picture.

My separation reeked of paint, and the boy gave me populi when I complained about it. There is no indication that the fundamental solution of not using the paint I have requested will ever be made.

While the boy was painting, I was free to read and play the piano, each. Of course we had some chatting, but it seemed more overwhelming that we were working each other's favorite tasks.

The boy often asked me to be a model for the painting.

Of course I refused everything because it was a hassle. I can't believe they put an order for this and the pose and I have to sit still for hours.

Instead, I closed my eyes to being sneaky sketching me.

That's how a month went by.

In the meantime, when I called the boy, I was poking through with the dual name of you, but it's just about time I sucked at guilt.

No, the boy comes here on his own, and I don't even remember asking him to come here or get along, but it's also true that he feels responsible as an older man if he gets hooked up to this point.

I feel sorry for you forever, and I will whisper. [M]

What's your name, though? and it's awkward to ask on a straight ball, and as you sloppy, no matter how much you raise anymore, you now ask your name? Are you insane? It's been like a while.

And this was the solution I arrived at after my troubles.

"I've been writing my diary for a while now, and I just want to make sure your name's on the line, so why don't you write it here?

In the guise of being natural, I opened a further page of my diary that I had started writing a few weeks earlier and showed it to the boy.

Come on, honey, let's get fooled and write your name!

You really don't know my name, do you?

"Chi, it's not!

Wow! I'm too cute to be a star. Worst.

Yeah, I don't know anymore!

What can I care about?

I'm my sister, so I'm probably better than the boy!

... I honestly apologize, yes.

"Sorry, I don't actually know your name. If you like, can you tell me?

"I wish I could say that from the beginning"

The boy laughed rather like a piece of fun without anger and wrote his name on the open page of the diary.

"Lucas?"

It's another familiar name.

Because I was a person classified as a so-called geek.

Especially recently, I can remember, I was in a maiden game called "The Lilac's You," and I was feverish on Lucas, one of its offensive characters. I put a big keyholder on my keys like an asshole, decorated my bookshelves and desks with goods, set up images of Lucas motifs disguised so that I couldn't see the phone waiting, and lived with him from morning to night.

Lucas was the oldest of the offensive characters and was an art teacher at the school, the stage of the game.

He always wears a blurry robe and repeats his loose, natural-looking words and actions, but he is a self-inflicted, sarcastic man. And above all along the way, it's essentially an innocent character.

But Lucas' clan moves politics from behind for generations and has a role to defend the country, and he grows up humbled that he can't because he went down the path of painting against that role. His only hope like that is the painting, his first girlfriend.

Her first love was the wife of Lucas' painting teacher, who appeared as the deceased within the game scenario.

But he had already died a long time ago, so Lucas kept writing many, many portraits of her that he couldn't give away, forgetting her face.

"I can't remember her voice, her smell, the feel of her hands...! So I have to draw...... at least don't forget just what she looks like!

When I think of his stills going to the mess canvas saying that like spitting blood, my heart is still gutted.

Wow, I'm not hanging up! Poor thing! I like it! That's what happens.

The setting of continuing to think of a woman other than heroine is pretty likable, but I really, really liked the fact that he went too far.

What's more, it was very poignant that older men would be healed and recovered by younger girls. It's the last thing I cried so much that I've played various maiden games but never cried so much about painting heroines and giving them to me.

And I liked the way it looked purely.

Every time a standing picture came out after seeing it again and again, wow, she said she had a nice face.

I'd be extremely troublesome if I was actually there, and I'd have attempted suicide several times. I don't think we want to get involved because he's a bad guy, but smiling on the screen, he was definitely the food for my life.

But sadly I haven't worshipped much longer, so I'm not sure I'm blurry enough to be beyond the cloudy glass trying to remember what my face was like.

Will I forget everything I like or hate this way?

When I touched my forehead, I returned it to me.

Lucas's face is closer than I thought, and I'm about to flip.

He put his palm on my forehead and looked worried.

"Hey, what?

"I suddenly got bogged down, so I thought it was also a fever."

"Oh, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

Still, strange matches overlap.

Retgar.

Lucas.

Purple hair.

I like to paint, and they call me a loser at home.

"... Le, Lucas?

"Yes, I am."

"It's not Lucas Marco Letger, is it?

"That, you knew my name? Oh, my God, I just thought it was something I didn't know because I'm not really interested. Hey, I'm a little happy."

I ironcloured the boy's head, not to mention his forehead.

"Whew!?

And for the first time, I saw the boy's eyes properly.

Her eyes, wide open, had long lashes like a girl's, and her eyes were black.

The noticeable nose is neat, a bit big mouthed and adorable.

The growing boy's face was still childish rounded, but still this face the moment I saw his face! I thought.

I've been paranoid over and over, seen it in fan art, but who would think Lucas's childhood was forehead haunted?

Yes, incredibly, whatever this strange boy who comes to pass away, no matter where he sees it from, he was the game character Lucas Marco Letger I loved.

"You Lucas!?

"Duh, what's wrong, Emilia? You said I was Lucas."

I stuck to the boy's forehead and checked his face again and again.

But every time I look at it again and again, I have to admit that Lucas has a similar face.

Oh, you, why... more importantly, you're a shota!?

I like older Lucas, but Lucas is Lucas, so even Shota should love him, and he's rude like Shota or something when it comes to people in real life!? Or that kind of thought, you say it's not good as a person?

... Hey, let's calm down.

If you give up a hundred steps and the boy is Lucas, does that mean this is on the axis of the past where it's called in the "Lilac's You" scenario?

Why!? Why!?

What do you mean? I can't chase understanding at all.

Wait... what about me?

Who the hell am I?