(I went to the gym today to work out, I'm weak, I need to exercise...)
The voice was light, melodious, and possessed the vivacity and sweetness of a young girl. Roy, who had been staring at the grimoire in his hand with a serious expression, relaxed his facial muscles, revealing a gentle smile.
He had been listening to that clear voice outside the door for over a decade. It belonged to his sister.
When facing his sister, Roy would try his best to hide any distress or sorrow, instead presenting his happiest, carefree side to her.
This was what a good brother should do. He couldn't let his sweet, delicate sister worry about anything.
Such was Roy's nature. He would flawlessly fulfill his role. As a brother, he would be the best brother there could be, never slacking off.
The old door creaked open, a bright ray of light piercing through the narrow gap, completely filling Roy's vision. It was a beautiful, innocent girl.
The girl had a head of golden hair that reached her ankles. It was as fine as the sand on a beach, radiating a dazzling brilliance even in the old, dim apartment, bringing a ray of hope to Roy's troubled mind.
"Lola, you're back."
Roy quickly walked over to the door, taking the basket she was carrying. His palm brushed against her smooth, golden hair. Seeing the faint dust on his palm, he said with a pang of heartache, "…Go wash your hair first."
London in the early 20th century was like a black factory, a true fog city. People walking on the streets would quickly be covered in a layer of dirty haze. Even the houses here needed regular cleaning to remove the thick dust that accumulated outside.
"Hair's fine, the food's not dirty, that's all that matters."
Lola's slender, tender fingers carefully lifted the white cloth covering the basket. The cloth was also covered in a layer of dust, but the bread and fruit underneath were clean and warm. Seeing this, Lola breathed a sigh of relief, patting her gradually swelling chest.
Roy reached out, smoothing the tangled strands of hair sticking to his sister's sweaty forehead. Lola broke into a sweet, innocent smile.
Lola Crowley, Roy's twin sister, born to the same father and mother. After their irresponsible father left and their mother died of illness, the siblings supported each other in London, like two flames embracing each other, growing up together.
Roy gazed at his sister. Her features were like a painting, her beautiful face like a blooming flower. Red lips adorned it, her azure eyes like the most splendid sapphires, radiating innocence and shyness. Her features, now fully grown, were undeniably exquisite.
Unlike most Western women, Lola's features weren't overly sharp, instead possessing a softness more akin to Eastern women. Her porcelain doll-like skin, smooth as jade, was flawless, tinged with a faint pink, delicate as a flower petal.
Under Roy's gaze, the fifteen-year-old girl's cheeks gradually flushed. She turned her head shyly, unable to meet Roy's eyes. Her fingers clutched the faded, simple dress she was wearing, whispering, "…Mrs. Mary next door gave me some extra fruit today."
"Hm, Mrs. Mary has been very kind to us. I only helped her write a few letters, a trivial matter. Her husband should be back from the front soon. We shouldn't trouble her anymore."
Mrs. Mary was Roy and Lola's neighbor, a very warm-hearted person. She would always share some of her bought fruit with Lola, helping the poor siblings improve their meals.
Roy and Lola didn't grow up in an orphanage. Their deceased mother left them a sum of money, most likely from their father, Aleister. Roy, a university graduate with a job, was meticulous. When Lola and he were still young, he used the money to get through their childhood.
After that, Roy utilized the knowledge he had acquired both in the past and present, taking on work writing letters for others. It was enough to sustain them. This era hadn't yet banned child labor.
Although he was a time traveler, the world he found himself in was no different from what he remembered from history. However, unlike those time-traveling predecessors, Roy didn't jump around, trying to change history by making grand events. This was due to his identity.
The identity of Aleister's son in this era wasn't a badge of honor, but a death warrant. If Roy didn't want to be killed by mages for simply leaving his house, he had to remain down-to-earth.
"The water, fruit should be enough. I'll make some jam. Let's have a little luxury today, spread some jam on the bread."
Because Roy was lost in thought, Lola thought her brother was staring at her. She clutched the basket tightly, her head down, walking away from Roy's sight with hurried steps. Her fair cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Roy could only smile helplessly. But when Lola turned her back to him, revealing the painting on her magnificent golden hair, the smile on Roy's face gradually disappeared.
Lola's golden hair was covered in a pattern like Picasso's abstract painting, resembling the boundless starry sky, profound and heavy. In that "mural" painted on her hair, Roy clearly saw the face of a demon taking shape.
In the Middle Ages, people said demons resided in women's hair. Now, a terrifying demon truly resided in Lola's hair.
"Lola…"
Roy couldn't help but call out his sister's name.
"What's wrong, brother?"
Lola stopped, turning her head slightly. Though embarrassed, she didn't want to ignore her brother. They had grown up together, experiencing the warmth and coldness of the world. In Lola's heart, her brother was her only family, her everything. Even though her heart felt like it was burning with shyness, she would try her best to meet any request from her brother, unwilling to disappoint him.
Roy didn't speak. He simply walked up to Lola and embraced her soft body from behind. They were tall enough for him to reach her, and he lowered his head, gently kissing her beautiful golden hair.
Then, Roy, as if testing, uttered her name, "…Lola Crowley."
Suddenly, a heavy, oppressive, murderous aura surged from Lola's delicate body. Her azure eyes, once full of innocence, dimmed, replaced by a darkness that should never belong to a fifteen-year-old girl. Even the corners of her mouth, which usually formed a sweet smile, were stretched into a twisted, sinister grimace.
"I don't like that name, brother… I'll say it again, I want you to call me Lola Stuart!"
With that, Lola walked into the narrow kitchen, carrying the basket with heavy steps.
Roy's eyes narrowed. He bit his lip, then turned back to the empty space behind him, saying, "…How am I supposed to save her?"
Behind Roy, a figure gradually materialized like light, an angel!