C95 (1/2)

The days passed quickly and the music festival in New Orleans arrived. The traditional festival had always been lively, with a sea of people and loud laughter.

As Rebecca walked along St. Peter's Street alone and the crowd gathered around her, she sighed, feeling nothing but infinite irony. Once again, Klaus had broken her heart.

Once again, the trust shattered. Klaus was always like this, and every time she discovered a glimmer of hope, he would personally destroy it. Terrifying elder brother, biting her lips, Rebecca secretly laughed at herself. It had been more than a thousand years, how could she not learn to teach him a lesson?

There was a gust of wind behind her, and the air was filled with the familiar smell of a man — Marcel, her former lover.

Rebecca moved as nimbly as a ghost. She looked at Marcel, her chest too close to his back. She was in a bad mood, just in time to vent her excess anger. ”Are you following me?”

Marcel suddenly approached and the tip of his nose appeared before Rebecca's eyes. His expression was all ambiguous, his mouth was only a few millimeters away, without any trace of politeness. ”Maybe it's you who's in my way, my darling ~”

”If you give Elijah back to us, maybe I won't just be blocking your way next time. Believe me, Marcel, I'll kill you myself.”

Marcel turned to look at her, his expression one of indifference and hatred, ”Rebecca, what's wrong? Your family has given you another blow, are you angry with me?” Rebecca began to attack. She put her elbow on Marcel's neck and kicked him viciously in the stomach. Marcel dodged them one by one, the habitual questioning coming from his mouth.

”I don't need anyone to mock me, Marcel. If you want to die,... Go on. ” The more Rebecca fought, the more spirited she became. It was as if her state of mind had become more stable. She was wholeheartedly trying to beat up this bastard who was acting all mysterious. She liked him the most!

”Rebecca,” Marcel took her hand back into his arms, his stomach was already bruised by her knee, the little wild cat was too powerful, he hugged the struggling little woman tightly, Marcel didn't seem to care, his voice was soft and coquettish, ”But, darling, are you really willing to give it up? You are willing to kill me? ”

On the other side, the witches were very angry because they had lost another witch — Katie.

Katie's funeral was very messy. A small part of her mana was released into the earth. When she died, her body could not be found because of forbidden techniques. Everyone felt both sorry and sad for her.

Sophie told them that Klaus had taken a group of vampires and torn the bodies to shreds, and that Katie had put her name in the name of betrayal, which made the witches at the funeral unhappy.

They hated traitors, but they had no choice but to accept their power.

Yes, the witches had to come, they could not resist the power that was scattered throughout the land, they had to fight for it.

Sophie had arranged the funeral alone. She had always been known for her rebellion, so no one had noticed her guilt or depression.

It seemed to him that Sophie had fallen into a deep self-reproach for indirectly killing the girl, and Sabin patted her on the shoulder.

Sophie looked at the rags and the hair wrapped in the linen, and lowered her head, hiding an inexplicable emotion in the hair of her cape.

Perhaps it was self-blame, or perhaps it was gloom.

Agnes wouldn't miss a chance to laugh at Sophie's mistake. She looked at Sabin, exchanged a quiet look, and then her lips curled into a vicious smile.

”I told you long ago that Sophie, those sinful allies, would do no good at all.”

She was tired now. ”At least I have something to do. Marcel will have his revenge.”

Sabin had wanted to leave with Sophie, but Agnes grabbed her and pushed her back between the tombstones, her old, secretive face smiling like a cracked orange peel. ”Sabin, tell them what you see, tell everyone the truth,” she croaked. About the child! ”

Sophie was a talker, and her grandmother, Carpathia, was the greatest talker witch of her time, having been in charge for generations of talkative spirits related to witches. Sabin sometimes seemed to mutter, but she was not necessarily wrong, and occasionally gave an omen or two.

But, in Sophie's words, her best friend, who was normally insane, spoke a little exaggeratedly, habitually exaggerating the facts.

Sabin gulped, a circle of bruises forming on her hand. She looked at Sophie with eyes that trembled with fear, with disbelief that she could not shake.