A Wish to Grab Happiness

White eyes jump up and pierce the hollow. Long-tightened eyelashes were poking straight into heaven.

The emotions that dwell in those eyes may be anger, disappointment, or the kind of sympathy or grief. But Roseau looked at the girl and wondered what kind of emotion, if any, it wasn't just like fright.

Citizens waving spears, sticking their ferocious faces on their faces at all costs. She didn't frighten her fingertips by putting the tip of the tip they poked at in her sight. Rather, his lips opened with dignity and, naturally, he sounded his voice.

"Roseau. The Civil Society does not have the authority to detain the rulers or anything else. Turn your spears down now and get back to your work to be done, citizens."

Clear, that voice. Philose-Trait's voice, like her white eyes, has no color.

Everywhere is right and nowhere can it be broken. Just a spear that gets pierced straight even. That's what she is, Philose-Trait. You make the right thing, and you don't doubt it that way. Maybe she can't have the feeling of doubting herself.

Roseau thinks. Oh, still a guy named her. It is the opposite of itself. Look, the straight way she is. I can't even compare myself to pulling and twisting everywhere. Yeah, that's why, yeah.

To the extra transparency of their voices, the citizens around them also clouded their eyes with instant agitation, blunting their spears. Anxiety and agitation rise in their guts as smoke.

Small, I tried to leak my exhale and Roseau ate the words.

"Sure. I have no authority to bind the rulers to the Civil Society. However - the authority to bind the treacherous belongs to the Catholic Church, something that every citizen has. Is it not, Philos-Treit the treacherous"

Now once, the treacherous and Roseau repeats as he emphasizes the word. Let the citizens not think things through, let them apply and consolidate their thoughts in their own words.

The treacherous, the one who threw down his faith.

The nomenclature varies, but none of the implications change. The clogged place, the one who turned his back on Altius, the Catholic god, the traitor who carried the most unforgivable sin in this world.

The word is the utmost insult to the great saints, and can no longer even be described as forbidden. It's a word that parents can teach you not to joke or talk about when you're a kid who's not old enough.

Turning your back on God means nothing more than throwing up everything you've ever received in salvation. This means that you will become a beast to a savage who knows neither dignity nor courtesy, who will be the same as a heathen like a crest. The word treacherous means so much.

That's why Roseau makes her lips jump up, saying that now is the time to say it. He trembles high and engraves his words into the brains of his citizens. I stick my thoughts to their thoughts.

Roseau knows that's really, really easy. That's enough to stain your bones. Because they've never even thought about what's right. Because at all times, he came to life believing in the righteousness given to man, hating the evil given to man.

Pure everywhere, stupid everywhere. I hate everywhere that way. The branding of the treacherous resonated well in their brains like that.

"You have formed an alliance with the crests. This must be true."

One word, one word. Slowly Roseau tells the citizens to bite him off. Wave your arms in a big bang, tremble your throat and voice, and make your citizens listen. That's what I've been doing. This is how I've lived with my mouth alone.

That's how I walked down the wrong path.

"That's what's going on. It will be good for Philos to determine the direction of the wind. The ruler's duty is to eat and kill shame, but to survive Philos' autonomy, that's all."

Philose-Trait's white eyes are still unshakeable. Just tell the truth as you look up at Roseau standing in the front. But the truth is never sitting in an unshakeable place. Rather, it is what dwells in the heads of those who are too prone to migrate.

Roseau's eyebrows rise and his eyes open. Lifting the edges of her lips seemed so pleasant.

"There's a soldier who snitched on you. He said he was happy to talk to the crest taker, and so - he took the crest hand not as the ruler of Philos, but as an individual of Philose-Treit."

So just what is it, Philose-Trait strengthens his gaze and stretches his body. You believe you're right and you don't doubt it. Roseau even remembers praise in his chest, causing his lips to pull.

Individual rulers form alliances with hostile forces. That can't be the first thing if it's supposed to be. Turn the history book upside down, but there are probably only a few examples.

This time it could have been because she feared that the city of Philos itself would be branded as treacherous. That was something Roseau understood. Because she's right at all times, and she's a strong person who doesn't expect shards such as trying to move with her own personal heart.

But that's why I don't understand the weakness of people's minds. You don't know that the nature of a person's questioning is awe. That's how rare examples in history are. I don't know what kind of man a monarch who made alliances with hostile forces by himself was.

"- Phyllos-Treit. You are a despicable traitor who sold the city of Philos for your own protection. In exchange for personal safety, sign an agreement to hand over the city's supplies to the crest. Shame on you."

At this time, for the first time, Phyllos-Treit opened his eyes. What floats there is just a stunning color. What the hell are you talking about? There's so much foolishness, how dare you think it's such a nagging thing to come up with, but you think it's in your chest.

But at the same time, Roseau warped her cheeks when she was supposed to be aware of the other thing.

That the gullible and gullible citizens may believe such a bad reputation. Whatever, the monarch who makes alliances with the hostile forces alone and deals with them was a cowardly traitor at all times.

"... I'm tired of hearing your paranoia, Roseau."

With that said, Philose-Trait's eyes look at the citizens in front of the gate, reflexively. None of the citizens and none of him will stare at her and try to let her go. Wherever they are, their lips open one after the other, and they scatter a violent noise.

Traitors, cowardly, cowardly bugs, murdering villains - oh, dead and treacherous.

Everyone scatters rough words as if distracted, polluting hollows.

"You sold us - you dirty whore!

As a matter of course, one stone was thrown and struck Philose-Treit hard in the cheek.

I dare you to deal with pointy stones. Her cheekskin is sliced thin and bright blood licks her cheeks. Did it sound on my cheekbone, and I stepped on that leg when it hit me?

As if imitating it, everyone held in their hands what he could throw, and those who put up spears, even now, would eat through Philose-Trait's flesh, when it seemed that way.

As if I had targeted him, Roseau releases his words. The usual, well-kept voice.

"Silently, gentlemen. The treacherous Philose-Trait is judged not by us, but by the Archdiocese. Put her in jail!

That said, Roseau crooked his lips as if to crook.