It was still the familiar feeling of vertigo, and sometimes Jenkins wondered if he had a disease such as "dizzy space transfer". After asking my father for confirmation, I found out that that strange feeling is very normal. When the number of space transfers increases, I can almost get used to it.
Assuming, of course, that there's never a space disaster or warp evil or other nonsense in the process.
Sitting on the cold ground, I closed my eyes and adjusted for a while, when the hand on the ground actually caught a handful of wet grass.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that it was a desolate grassland, but it was covered by black mist in the distance and I couldn't see the original appearance. Besides Mr. Black Cat, there are two strangers who have never seen him before. Among them, the younger woman is throwing up on the ground, while the man who is about the same age as Mr. Black Cat is covering his mouth and looking like The appearance of spraying.
Looking up, the strange mist also covered the sky, without the sun, moon and stars. Visibility was good nearby, as a bonfire was burning about 50 feet (15.24 meters) ahead.
The old man holding a book sat cross-legged by the campfire, wearing a monocle, but his face was expressionless.
"Successful, it's really a strange place!"
Even though I thought in my heart that the owner of the bookstore would not lie, I still had doubts about that piece of white light. This is the first time he entered the strange world with excitement.
Jenkins also sincerely hopes that this is the last time.
Mr. Black Cat recovered quickly, grabbed Jenkins' outstretched hand and stood up, then patted the stained clothes. Chocolat squinted and lay in Jenkins' arms, seeing that everyone was normal, so he pretended to meow, and raised his head while rubbing Jenkins' clothes unsteadily.
The other two strangers are clearly together, as can be seen from the eye contact and stance. But this is not a place for intrigue, because everyone will suffer misfortune if they are not careful.
After a short self-introduction, the young woman's name is Celtic Knight, the middle-aged man is Sloan Creed; Jenkins is still Hercule Poirot, and Mr. Black Cat's pseudonym is Kate. black.
The four temporarily formed an alliance, and then verbally approved the principle of not harming each other and helping each other, and then walked to the bonfire.
Seeing that the old man who was reading the book was still silent and focused on the book, the four of them looked at each other, imitating it and sat down.
In this way, five people, or five human-like creatures, sat around the campfire. Being so close to the flames made the black mist that obscured the sky and the distance seem even closer when looking back. Of course, this is most likely not an illusion.
"Shall we tell a story?"
The scholar put down the book stiffly, and everyone could see the age spots on his wrist during the process.
Although the sentence above is an interrogative sentence, the four benefactors all know that they have no choice at all.
"How do we get out of here?"
Seeing that no one answered, Jenkins took the initiative to ask. Mr. Black Cat on the side quickly tugged at his sleeve, and Miss Knight and Mr. Cradle also expressed surprise.
Jenkins is not worried at all. This is already the sixth strange situation he has experienced. He is very clear that in the initial stage of the strange world, as long as he does not deliberately provoke the host and observe it deliberately, then basically the danger is very small.
"It's very simple, as long as the story I tell is over, you can leave."
The old man watched the four people one by one through the monocle, closed his book with a snap, and put it on his lap.
The thickness of the book is like an ordinary notebook, and the size is also that ordinary specification. It's just that the cover material seems to be leather, so it doesn't look flat.
Half of the chocolate with a low sense of presence was hidden in the shadow of Jenkins being reflected by the campfire. Although he was full just now, he didn't mind eating more.
Ignoring the expressions of the four people, the old man flipped through the first page of the book with his stubby fingers. Mr. Cradle, who was closer to him, seemed to want to glance at the content on the page, but he spat out a mouthful of blood with a pop.
Blood was sprayed into the bonfire, causing the flames to shake violently. The darkness behind him seemed to grow deeper.
"The story happened a long, long time ago. It was an ancient time."
Obviously, the tone is emotionless when introducing the rules, but it is the exact opposite when talking about the story. Even Jenkins had to admit that even a professional storyteller couldn't have said it better.
"It is a kingdom near the sea, and the people in the kingdom live a happy and happy life..."
"Williamette's fairy tale..."
Mr. Cradle whispered to his companions.
The so-called "Williamette-style fairy tale" means that most of Jenkins' fairy tales in Stranger Stories begin with such a sentence. This has become the main point of attack of his critics now, so critics have also begun to describe new fairy tales that are similar to those written by Jenkins as "Williamette fairy tales".
"The king and queen of the kingdom are a loving couple who have three lovely children, and the protagonist of our story is the kind and innocent little princess, Sophia.
It was a weekend morning, and the princess was woken up by her little maid as usual. She has long, shiny golden hair and dark, bright eyes. Of course, like all little girls of this age, Sophia also has some willful bad habits, such as... "
The four people who were forced to listen to the story swallowed neatly.
"For example, she likes to have a fresh apple when she wakes up."
The scholar's words stopped, followed by a strange voice from the darkness behind everyone.
Gulu~ Gulu~ Gulu~
A dozen fresh, plump apples rolled out of the darkness to the campfire, their reddish luster reflected in the light of the flames.
"So, which one should she choose from the fruit bowl by the bed?"
When he said this, he stopped talking, but held the book and looked at the four people.
"We have to keep the story going to get to the end..."
Mr. Black Cat said: "So, this is..."
"It's a matter of choice. Obviously, these apples are not just apples."
Miss Knight took up the conversation. Her hair was also blond, but not quite as pure as Jenkins' blond. It is said that someone can judge whether a person's ancestors are nobles based on the slight difference in hair color. I don't know who is so boring to exercise such a skill.