"Huh...sister, are we walking towards London now? We are so close to London now."

On Christmas night, two figures, one large and one small, were walking along the road, their footsteps crunching on the fluffy snow.

The one who asked the question was the younger girl. Her face was red from the cold, and she was wrapped in heavy clothes. She was walking and jumping happily. Her pink eyes looked brilliant and bright in the dark night, reflecting the accumulated rain.

The light reflected from the snow.

"We were just passing through London. The place we were going to was Maidstone...I didn't expect that my brother would actually go to that place."

The nun next to her who looked older and taller sighed, took out a picture album from her bag, flipped through the paintings on it, and then looked at the artist of the painting.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a famous painter in Maidstone.

Obviously, these two people are Christina Rossetti and Hermia who are on the road.

At the back of the book, the publisher also recorded various details about the painter in detail. It was this that gave the nun the direction to continue looking for her brother - it was the romantic affair that was recorded that made her silently decide that she must do it when the time comes.

Give your brother a good beating and warn him to return as soon as possible...

"Then should we take a ride?"

Hermia blinked and said seriously: "If the time is tighter, sister, maybe you can spend this Christmas with your family!"

After being together for such a long time, she and Rossetti were already familiar with each other, and she no longer had the hesitation and uneasiness in her heart when she first came into contact with the outside world, and she would even take the initiative to put forward her own ideas.

——She is a bold girl who can think about running away. She also likes wandering around. She can see all kinds of novel things every day and encounter all kinds of unexpected life.

"Do you have identification information that can buy tickets?"

Miss Rossetti raised her eyebrows, slightly curved her light golden eyes, and asked with a smile, which suddenly made the girl blush and lower her head.

"The controlling people in the Bell Tower Attendants know that there is a little girl like you. I'm afraid they will take you back directly and ask you to reveal all your identity information."

When the nun saw this scene, she slightly raised her lips and smiled, and her voice was gentle and gentle: "We haven't seen each other for so many years, and it's only a day or two. And..."

"I'm also thinking about what kind of posture I should use to meet him."

Miss Rossetti looked into the distance and sighed slightly: "After all, so many years have passed, maybe they all thought I had died in the war."

The little girl Hermia had no relatives, but she also felt the sadness hidden in the words of the person next to her, so she stretched out her hand with some worry and took the initiative to hold the person.

"Sister?" She shouted softly, and then deliberately told other news in an attempt to divert the other party's attention. "Speaking of which, I remember that when you first met me, sister, you said that you needed me to go to London for you.

Send a message? Have the washer ghost and witch we met a few days ago given you the answer you want?"

"Well, I'll leave this to you. My status is a bit special, and there are a lot of surveillance in London, so I can't go there."

Rossetti nodded, remembering the news told to him by the two beings he met a few days ago, and finally couldn't help but sigh, and handed over a wrapped letter from his bag:

"Because it is best that the information inside is not known to anyone else, so you need to hand it over in person...I am always worried that something will go wrong if I send it by post."

Hermia took the letter, nodded obediently, and then blinked curiously: "So what kind of news is this? Does it involve some confidential documents of a big country?"

"I told you a long time ago, don't read so many messy novels."

Miss Rossetti raised her eyes angrily and flicked Hermia's smooth forehead with her finger: "This is something involving alchemy and other occult sciences... About the Philosopher's Stone, eternal life

Wine, jade records, demons and so on."

"Hey, wait? This is obviously more like a novel than what I thought before!"

The little girl opened her eyes blankly, covered her head with her left hand, and protested dissatisfiedly, but in the end she tactfully and carefully hid the letter in the inner pocket of her clothes.

The nun looked at her movements, sighed, stretched out her hand to help tidy up her clothes a few times, and said while tidying up:

"Let's take a rest in a nearby town. When you go to London, I'll be waiting for you at the town's residence. By the way, it's best not to get along with the superpowers in London, especially Conan...

Doyle...if they want to pester you, just call Beiyuan, Beiyuan and Feng. He is the person you want to deliver the message to."

"Mr. Kitahara?"

Hermia was stunned, obviously not expecting that the person she was sending the letter to was the person who spent Christmas with her last year, her pink eyes suddenly brightened: "I will definitely deliver the letter!"

"Are you so motivated all of a sudden?"

Rossetti was not surprised by this, he just smiled and poked the girl's forehead with his finger, teasing.

"Hehe, after all, I know Mr. Kitahara too."

Hermia laughed twice, then followed the other person and continued walking on the avenue, jumping up and down, bending her eyes and continuing to sing, the same song "Jingle Bells" that was sung over and over again every Christmas.

"jingle bells, jingle bells

jingle all the way

oh what fun it is to ride

in a one-horse open sleigh, hey!”

"jingle bells, jingle bells..."

"Dickens, could you stop for a moment?"

Conan Doyle, who was smoking on the windowsill, took a drag on his pipe and looked helplessly at Dickens, who was sitting on the railing and humming to himself:

"How many times have you sung this Christmas song over and over today? Don't you even know how many times you have sung it? Twenty-four times, a full twenty-four times!"

"?"

Dickens, who was looking up at the stars, lowered his head and looked at Conan Doyle for a long time. Then he spoke in a slow tone with a very serious expression: "First of all, Mr. Doyle, this song is actually written by

It’s for Thanksgiving, and even though people prefer to sing it at Christmas, it’s not a Christmas song.”

"second."

Dickens slowly raised three fingers. His orange eyes looked a little wandering. He looked at the pillar next to Conan Doyle as if he couldn't find a place to stay. His tone sounded a little inexplicable and proud: "I, what I sing is not

Twenty-four times, that’s sixty-nine times!”

Conan Doyle was silent for a few seconds.

Conan Doyle took a strong drag on his pipe, then turned his head and shouted towards the banquet inside:

"Kitahara, Agatha - Dickens seems to have lost his brain when he drank. Come here and save him!"

Kitahara Kazuka, who was drawing a lilac bush for Eliot, raised his head in confusion, and looked at Agatha, who was elegantly eating a three-layer sweetheart tower cake drizzled with chocolate sauce.

The other Transcendents were quiet for a few seconds, and then instantly burst into louder chirping sounds:

"What, Dickens has lost his mind?"

"What, the Dickensians are gone?"

"What, Dickens is finally defecting?"

After hearing these words, Beihara and Feng raised their eyes helplessly, stretched out their hands to rub Elliot's hair, who was a little depressed because of the interruption of their time together, and carefully finished painting the lilac flowers for the people around them.

With Agatha here, there is no need to ask him, who is not a member of the Clock Tower Squires, to help, otherwise it will make this large organization lose face if word spreads - he is not familiar with Orwell, the leader of the Clock Tower Squires.

, I don’t know what the other party thinks.

However, the speed at which the rumors spread within the Bell Tower Attendants was really outrageous...how could they develop into "Dickensian" so quickly?

Are you planning to run away because the bell tower attendants are not allowed to sing Christmas carols?”

"Hey, you guys don't spread rumors!"

Agatha hit her head with a headache, angrily took away all the desserts on Byron's table together with the plates, and turned to look at the window sill: "Doyle, can't you solve it yourself?

"

Conan Doyle took advantage of Agatha's absence and smoked the smoke from his pipe cherishedly. At the same time, he replied in an indifferent tone: "Aren't I worried about this guy jumping off the railing? I'm not as agile as you, Madam Knight.

.”

Beihara and Feng listened to the conversation between the two of them, and couldn't help but raise the corners of their mouths. They used light purple water-soluble colored pencils to paint the lilac flowers in a very light blue-purple color. Then they looked at Elliot and said with a smile:

"What else should I draw?"

"Stele, water, nightingale..."

Elliot looked at Kitahara and Feng without blinking, and whispered, his ears looked slightly red under the light, and his tone of voice became light and fast at some point, and he seemed a little nervous.

"Don't you want to draw a Christmas tree? A Christmas tree with bright and dazzling stars on the top, lights and little angels hanging on it."

Kitahara and Kaede turned their heads and asked with a small smile as well: "I can also draw you Santa Claus and reindeer, as well as small Christmas bells and garlands."

"No, no need."

Elliot's face seemed to be a little redder. He glanced at Beitahara and Feng secretly, took the initiative to hug each other, buried his face on each other's shoulders, and stared at his friend's profile.

"Those will do."

The poet said this, and his black eyes reflected the bright candlelight on the table and the lights in the hall, and perhaps the smiling orange-gold eyes of the traveler.

"I just want to hold you like this for a while, Beiyuan."

Elliot enjoys this feeling: even though he likes to soak in countless lively and warm emotions, those emotions have nothing to do with him. But now, the person he is hugging, the emotions floating on him

Emotions are related to yourself.

And this emotion associated with oneself is the most special and tender one: in Eliot's world, this is as joyful as discovering that the roses in one's home are the most beautiful and moving roses in the world.

.
To be continued...