In the afternoon, Cynthia finally woke up from her deep sleep. As soon as she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at a beautiful, sleepy face. The same bold, ethnic-style clothing, and on her fair wrist, a string of intricate chains. Cynthia blinked in confusion and called out:
"Monica?"
She had a vivid impression of this beautiful woman—someone who loved boldly and hated boldly, a woman with a genuine personality. Who wouldn't like that?
As soon as Cynthia spoke, Monica immediately woke up, blinking her sleepy, large eyes. Stretching her body lazily, she complained:
"Ah, little Cynthia, you're finally awake. Keeping watch here is such a boring thing to do!"
However, despite her complaints, Cynthia could tell there was no trace of unhappiness in her tone. After a whole day of resting, the pain in Cynthia's lower abdomen had disappeared, though her body still felt weak. But Monica's cute appearance lifted her mood slightly, so she teased:
