"Rye. My Rymond.
After Brother Gian and Brother Giovanni return, your mother tells me that.
I'm used to it.
It's weirder not to get used to it because it's been repeated for six years.
"Lymond. My sweet girl. You're bound to be Prince Wang.
"Yes, Mother.
"Your father, Abramo, will surely notice one day, too. You really deserve Prince Wang.
"Yes, Mother.
A thin finger on my clawed mother slips over my face and pays off my forehead.
Since when has that beautiful mother's face been so messed up?
"Eyes very similar to Abramo's. Hair very similar to mine. Lymond. Be sure to make Prince Wang king of this land.
Seven years, words I've been repeating ever since I started speaking.
"Yes, Mother.
I don't know any other words than to answer that.
Instead, you can't push this man away, you can't detach him if it doesn't matter, and you can't give up love.
"Lymond. My Lymond. You're on my side. Please don't leave me alone.
"... Yes, Mother.
I'm usually the mother who tells me to be the King Prince, but I guess I just miss the truth.
Look at the dark hair of Ochidens and the green eyes of Chentro in the postpartum tension when I was actually just born to Prince Wang!! I may have been a little reckless to say that, but since then, my mother has been treated like a tumor from around her, so she has always been alone.
My father, who used to visit my room to see me frequently when I was still little, and my father, as I grew up, was no longer greatly viewed until now, even when my father left me a little bit alone with his executive duties, and inevitably came to see my mother less.
My mother would have liked to interest my father.
Or I wanted a gaze from the others.
I suppose that's why you wanted me to be Prince Wang.
Now the only people who talk to your mother are me or a few of my followers who believe blindly in you.
When my father goes to talk to my mother, I get twisted with lighting and nervousness, and because of that, my father mistakenly thinks that my mother doesn't like me or likes me very much.
As a result, Father unnecessarily comes to see you less often for your mother..................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
It's a vicious circle of tundelle.
Father, that's what I call a tundra. Your mother likes your father, so please be more aggressive.
Somehow, I'm supposed to be twenty-six this year. My mother looks like a girl.
You're relying on me to be the only one who talks to you, persuading you that nobody can deal with you.
I was loved and given everything until I got married, butterfly. I'm sure my mother kept missing the opportunity to grow up.
Especially depending on what you grow up with.
Still, I don't know how to interact with people, I don't know how to show a fondness for people, and I can't give up, I just ask you to love me, and you keep looking at me. It's still childish.
"Lymond, you love me, don't you? You mean you don't love me? That's not true, is it?
"Yes, Mother.
He says he's a lower bitch, but he can't be honest about this either, but it's probably because.
I protect my heart by thinking that I hate people who hate me too.
"Yes, right? Right! There's no way my Lymond hates me!
Right, right! and crumbled over and over again to convince herself. Mother finally went to her bedroom to reassure herself.
"..................... Dear Rymond. Can I get you a hot milk, too?
"Maria............ Yeah. Please.
Maria, who had always refrained by her side, thanked her for one thing and left the room behind.
Exhale the breath you were packing in your body in your own room, where no one was left by Maria's exit.
I'm probably the only one who's noticed the difference between your mother and your father.
Would it still be cowardly not to tell either one of them about it?
But what happens if I tell you?
Will it change with a statement by a child of only six years old?
But it wouldn't be the same to give up and say the words and moan that you're unhappy about everything that comes down to you, would it?
I have to put it in words. I don't know, I can't pass it on.
"Master Rymond. Excuse me.
"Hey, Maria. Can you handle it if I tell you I want to talk to your father tomorrow?
"Yes?"
Maria walked into the room with hot milk and made my eyes black and white on my words.