"Ledonโฆ."
"Leedoooonnn..."
"Leeeeeeeeeedooooooonnnnnnn!"
Elisa's shout woke me up at once. That terrible reminiscence seemed to have ended ultimately. I looked down subsequently, seeing a pond of clear tears on the loaf of bread and felt my hand holding the earring on my left ear. The crimson on the earring never faded; it was as if it held some sort of peculiar bond.
"There. You are finally awake." said Elisa. "You have been sitting there for five whole minutes without speaking, Ledon."
I told her what I had experienced in the last five minutes. Although seemed short, it felt three centuries of agony for me.
"That's why,' said Elisa, "I'm really sorry that I mocked you earlier. I did not mean to make you remember those agonizing memories. I was just trying to make a joke."
"Enough, kids," said Sister Mornie, "have you all forgotten? It is your master's birthday today. Come on, laugh more. Quit the awkward atmosphere."
The others and I all nodded obediently and continued eating the loaves of bread. Such soft whites and crispy crumbs. No doubt it is from a high-end shop.
"Slowly, slowly." said Sister Morine. "Eat slowly, or you might choke."
That was a peaceful dawn. Gradually, the orangeness of the room subsided, and up into the sky went the great fireball.
We did not have much to do in the orphanage. We took turns to do the housework, and every other times we did what we liked to do. The Sister liked to read religious books, Master liked botany, Davide liked electrical wirings, Sofia liked sewing, Elisa liked "cooking" (although she never succeeded to create an "edible" dish), and as for me, I liked history and reading old books, especially those related to urban myths and legends. There was a huge library in the middle of the orphanage, collecting over 30,000 sundry books in total. Mystery and fantasy, fiction and informative, literature and adventure, we could find any book we wanted in that great hall of knowledge.
I had always liked the historical books written by Franklin C. Greenson. He talked about various myths which instilled in people's minds and haunted them in their sleep, but were never authentic or genuine. Today I as usual went to the fifth bookshelf on the second floor of the great hall, in search of another fascinating book. I glided by ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฅ'๐ด ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฑ๐ด๐ฆ, ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฆ๐จ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ญ๐ฅ ๐๐ข๐ฏ and ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฉ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ข ๐๐ถ๐ฌ๐ฆ, and finally, I saw a book I was interested in. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ข๐ฏ๐ช๐ข๐ฏ ๐๐บ๐ต๐ฉ.
I pulled out the book at once from that small crack in the shelf. The book itself was poorly made, smelt terrible and had silverfish crawling on the book cover. Yet, the goldenness of the title never faded. It shone as the daylight showed its arms within the huge emptiness of the hall. It sparkled, and captivated my pupil in a split second. It seemed it was calling for me, calling for me to open and read it.
Despite the poor condition of the book, I could not resist the temptation. I gave a strong thrust and opened the book decisively. On the first page there was a short sentence of Latin. It said "๐ฎ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐พ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐พ๐ ๐๐พ๐ท๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐พ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐พ๐๐พ ๐ถ ๐๐พ๐ท๐๐."