The voice was light and cheerful, carrying the vivacity and sweetness of a young girl. Roy, who had been solemnly studying the grimoire in his hands, relaxed his expression and allowed a gentle smile to surface.
He had been listening to that clear, lovely voice for over a decade—it belonged to his younger sister.
When facing his sister, Roy made every effort to conceal any trace of distress or sorrow, presenting only the happiest, most carefree version of himself.
This was what a responsible older brother ought to do—never letting his adorable, delicate sister worry about anything.
Such was Roy's nature. He flawlessly fulfilled the duties of his role. As an older brother, he would be the very best, never slacking in the slightest.
The old door creaked open, and through the narrow gap, a radiant light flooded Roy's vision—there stood a beautiful, innocent young girl.
The girl had long, pale golden hair that reached her ankles, as fine as the sand on a beach. Even in the dim, old apartment, it shimmered with a radiant glow, casting a hopeful light into Roy's restless heart.
"Lola, you're back."
Roy quickly stepped to the door, taking the basket from Lola's hands. His fingers brushed against her smooth golden hair, and when he noticed the faint dust left in his palm, his heart ached. "...Go clean your hair first."
Early 20th-century London was like a black factory, a true "fog city." People walking the streets would soon be covered in a layer of grimy haze, and the houses required regular cleaning to remove the thick dust that accumulated outside.
"Never mind my hair. As long as the food isn't dirty, it's fine."
Lola's slender, delicate fingers carefully lifted the white cloth covering the basket—now also coated in dust. Beneath it, the bread and fruit remained clean and warm. Seeing this, Lola patted her gradually swelling chest in relief and let out a soft sigh.
Roy reached out to smooth the stray strands of hair sticking to his sister's sweaty forehead, prompting a sweet, innocent smile from her.
Lola Crowley—Roy's twin sister, born to the same parents. After their irresponsible father left and their mother passed away from illness, the siblings had relied on each other in London, growing up like two flames huddled together, sharing warmth in hardship.
Roy gazed at his sister. Her features were picturesque, her beautiful face like a blooming flower adorned with rosy lips. Her sapphire-blue eyes, like the finest gemstones, radiated innocence and shyness. As she grew, her delicate features blossomed into breathtaking beauty.
Unlike typical Western women, Lola's features weren't overly sharp—her softness resembled that of an Eastern beauty. Her porcelain skin was flawless, tinged with a faint pink, so delicate it seemed it might bruise at a touch.
Under Roy's gaze, the fifteen-year-old girl's cheeks gradually flushed. She shyly turned her head away, unable to meet his eyes, her fingers clutching the faded, simple dress she wore. In a small voice, she said, "...Mrs. Mary next door gave me some extra fruit today."
"Mm. Mrs. Mary has been very kind to us. All I've done is write a few letters for her—such a trivial thing. Her husband should be returning from the front soon. We shouldn't trouble her anymore in the future."
Mrs. Mary was their neighbor, a warm-hearted woman who often shared a piece or two of fruit with Lola to help the poor siblings improve their meals.
Roy and Lola hadn't grown up in an orphanage. Their late mother had left them a sum of money—most likely from their father, Aleister. As a university graduate already working, Roy had carefully managed those funds to support them through their childhood.
Since then, Roy had relied on his education to make a living by writing letters for others, barely scraping by. In this era, there were no laws against child labor yet.
Though a transmigrator, Roy found the current world no different from the historical one he remembered. Yet unlike his predecessors who flaunted their knowledge to alter history, Roy remained low-key—all because of his identity.
Being Aleister's son in this era wasn't a badge of honor but a death sentence. Unless Roy wanted to be hunted down by mages the moment he stepped outside, keeping his head down was the only option.
"The fruits... should be enough. I'll make some jam. Let's indulge a little today—jam on bread."
Lost in thought, Roy hadn't realized he'd been staring at Lola until she clutched her basket, lowered her head, and hurried away like a gust of wind, her fair cheeks tinged with shyness.
Roy could only smile wryly. But as Lola's retreating figure revealed the intricate patterns woven into her lustrous golden hair, his smile faded.
Abstract, Picasso-esque designs sprawled across her locks like an endless, oppressive starscape. Within that "mural" painted upon her hair, Roy clearly saw a demon's visage taking shape.
In medieval times, people believed demons dwelled in women's hair. Now, Lola's tresses truly harbored a terrifying fiend.
"Lola..."
Roy couldn't help calling out to his sister.
"Yes, brother?"
She paused, tilting her head slightly.
Though bashful, Lola would never ignore him. Having grown up together through hardship, her brother was her only family—her entire world. Even if her heart burned with shyness, she'd strive to fulfill his every wish, never wanting to disappoint him.
Roy didn't speak. Instead, he stepped closer, embracing her slender frame from behind. With their height difference, he easily bent to press a gentle kiss upon her golden hair.
Then, testingly, he murmured, "...Lola Zaza Crowley."
Suddenly, an oppressive, murderous aura erupted from Lola's delicate form. Her innocent blue eyes darkened, clouded by a gloom no fifteen-year-old should bear. Even her sweet smile twisted into something sinister and dark.
"I dislike that name, brother... Let me repeat—I wish to be called Laura Stuart!"
With that, she trudged heavily into the cramped kitchen, basket in hand.
Roy's eyes narrowed. Biting his lip, he abruptly turned to address the empty air behind him, "...How do I save her?"
Gradually, a luminous figure materialized—an angel.
***
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