As Hypron put his hand on my shoulder, I couldn’t help but be struck by how different the original was.
It was a sinking unpleasant feeling. The future was no longer predictable and I had no way of knowing if it would be poison or beneficial.
Hypron was looking at me meaningfully when he opened his mouth,
“I recently saw someone who looked like you, my lady.”
My hand on his shoulder almost slipped.
Someone who looks like me.
There was no further explanation because it must have been me.
Are you trying to face it head-on without dilly-dallying?
What he wants here is my reaction.
His golden eyes will pay close attention to whether my pupils are shaking, the angles at the ends of my lips, and whether or not my body is trembling.
I have to be as nonchalant as possible.
The fact that he chose this direct tactic means he is still not sure about whether or not I was the one he saw at the slave auction.
“The gentleman saw someone that looked like me? How interesting. How does this person look like me?”
He looked deep into my eyes as if he were engraving me in his gold sight. As I made eye contact, I felt overwhelmed by the strange illusion that I was being engulfed in that golden landscape.
“Their eyes were red, like the young lady’s.”
A strange smile spread across his straightforward face.
“The lady’s striking eyes are always beautiful.”
“……Thank you for the compliment.”
“To the extent that I would wager that you are the only one who possesses such eyes…”
The more he spoke, the more his pupils dilated and his golden eyes darken and shined.
For some reason, the more he looked into my eyes the more it seemed to harden his heart and he seemed to grow more and more indignant.
This is dangerous.
“Perhaps to the point those eyes cannot be copied even with magic.”
This was not a compliment. Hypron was a man unfamiliar with giving compliments, to the point that in the original the only thing he could utter to his beloved, Juliana, with a blank expression was the one word, ‘pretty.’
He was trying to determine if I’m the person I met at the slave auction.
“What color hair did they have?”
His gaze passed through my flowing silver hair.
“. . . it was the color of gray murky sea.”
Of course, I hid my hair color back then. I had to break his confidence. I had to shatter it.
I have to slowly instill in him the difference between what he saw and me.
“It was dark, so maybe I thought it was gray.”
“Because it was night.”
He seemed to want to solidify his heart. To the point of trying to distort his own memory.
“But the Duke is a swordmaster… so your senses are more developed than ordinary people so you’ve seen it properly, you should trust yourself more.”
His raw yellow eyes scoured through me to see if I really knew anything. An awkward atmosphere developed between us, a stark contrast to the smooth flowing melody. I adhered to my carefree attitude by skillfully dancing the correct steps.
“I wonder how the Duke met that woman.”
“That person is… a man.”
“Oh. You said you saw someone who looked like me, so I naturally assumed it was a woman. I misunderstood.”
Such a casual attitude.
At that time, I was dressed as a man. That’s why I used the term ‘woman’ on purpose.
He even corrected my assumption that it was a man.
Yet I could tell his doubts about me weren’t fully dispelled.
“You look like me, Duke.
“I want to meet the person the Duke says looks like me.”
The fast tempo was getting slower.
It was a signal that the dance with him was coming to an end.
“I want to see you again.”
His amber eyes stared intently at me.
Our overlapping bodies from the dance fell apart, and we looked at each other and bowed to each other.
It was a formality nobility observed after a dance was over.
– Then, after dancing, promise me that you’ll come to my side right away.
Alastair’s words echoed in my ears.
Even if you didn’t instruct me to promise you I’d be there.
The obsession he showed me was futile.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it burst into a rainstorm and disappeared like evaporated water one day.
I searched for Alastair, surveying the banquet hall.
A nobleman looked around with anxious eyes, took out a round pill from his bosom, and put it in a glass.
The aristocrat stared at the blonde-haired woman with a bottle of champagne. With a smile on his face, he moved his feet towards her.
The woman he stared at the whole time was a woman I knew well.
One thought on “ILLYML – 37.2”
Wow someone kill that trash guy! Roofying drinks 😡😡