QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)

Chapter 419:

Lorelei

I wish time would stop. I would remain frozen in this moment of contentment forever.

I might not remember clearly. My past lives are fragments, shards scattered across the floor of my memory. But what I do remember is the emotions. My heart.

Like sometimes, when she smiles and runs her tongue along her fangs, my body shivers in an odd mixture of fear and excitement. I do not understand it. I cannot explain it. But it is there—burning, undeniable, real.

Or when she returns from painting, and the scent of pigment clings to her skin, it does something to me. Something I cannot explain. Something that makes my pulse quicken and my thoughts scatter.

It is not just because of her, though.

When she told me to act as her muse, for some reason I knew exactly how to portray myself. The smallest angle of my face. The tilt of my chin. The way to catch the light. I did not learn these things. I simply knew them.

Or how I am surprisingly good with knives. I have never used them before. But when one is in my hand, I know exactly how to hold it. Exactly where to strike. Exactly how to efficiently end a human’s life.

Something else that was odd—on the ship, when the mortal prince was eating, I found myself knowledgeable about the way he ate. The specific angle of the knife and fork. The proper posture. The etiquette of the court.

I was stunned.

I had never eaten at a human table. I had never held a fork. And yet, I knew.

All of these things are proof.

Proof that it is me. Another me. And all of mes fall in love with this person.

Not the affection programmed into me by past lives or fragmented memories. Not the echo of emotions I cannot fully recall.

What I have seen.

Her laugh. Her scent. Her eyes. The way she loves to take naps like this—curled on the couch, Alira on her chest, utterly peaceful.

I love the way she holds our daughter. The way she talks to her in soft murmurs. The way she sings old songs from worlds I will never see.

I love the way she looks at me.

Like I am the only person in the world.

Like I am enough.

And most importantly, I love the way she learns me. The way she studies my face like it is a map she has never seen before. The way she discovers my preferences—what foods I like, what touches make me shiver, what words make me smile.

She does not search for past fragments of me in me.

She does not look at me and see Jiang Yuxi, or Evelyn, or Estella, or Nima, or Vivienne.

She looks at me and sees Lorelei.

She loves me for who I am now.

Not for who I was. Not for who I might become.

For me.

How can I not fall into the deepest depths of love with her?

Is this what I have always felt? Across all those lives I cannot remember—was it like this? Was it always this consuming, this gentle, this inevitable?

I wish that next time—in whatever life comes after this one—I would be able to hold onto more than just the emotions. Not just the feelings. Not just the echoes.

I want the memories.

"Do you not get tired of watching me sleep?" she asks.

Her eyes are still closed. Her voice is thick with sleep.

I smile. I tilt my head.

"Oh, my lover." I run my fingers through her hair. "I would spend nights staring at Alira as an egg for moments on end. This duration is nothing to me."

She laughs.

It is a soft sound that is warm and sleepy.

"Fine, then sing for me," she says.

I pause.

It is always... fluttering to do so. Only mates and the closest of families experience that—the vulnerability of song, the exposure of the soul. I suppose it is true in both cases right now.

But I oblige anyway.

The melody rises from my chest—not words, just a tune. I pour all my emotions into it. The love. The longing. The quiet, desperate gratitude that I am no longer alone.

Soon, she falls back into deeper sleep.

Alira’s tiny hand relaxes against Daphne’s chest. Her breathing evens out. Her lips part slightly.

What a pair.

Parent and child, both needing to sleep to the sound of my voice.

I would not change this for all the pearls in the world.

I rest my chin on the edge of the couch.

I once wondered—when I saw her naked, I was curious about how we could have possibly been together. Clearly, she was not male. I did not understand how our bodies would bring about a child.

Then it appeared.

I did not like what it looked like.

It was big. Large. Veiny. Scary.

I told her to put it away immediately.

I think I am content with our current physical relationship without the involvement of that.

Yes. Very content.

I look at her fingers resting on Alira’s tiny back. Clean. Long. Slender.

They make me feel things.

I mentally scold myself for thinking that way right now. Now is not the time.

When they are deep inside me. When her other hand is muffling my cries so as not to wake the baby—

Ashamed of my thoughts, I think of something else.

The sea. The waves. The cold, dark cave where I waited for so long.

The cave does not help.

The waves do not help.

Nothing helps.Unfortunately, that means my thoughts are reflected in my voice.

The melody shifts—subtly, almost imperceptibly. The soft lullaby becomes something else.

Daphne stirs awake.

Her eyes flutter open. Her gaze finds mine.

"This was not what I meant," she says, her voice thick with sleep, "when I asked for your voice."

Alarmed!

I stop singing immediately.

How can she tell? I narrow my eyes. My cheeks burn. I stand up.

"That is enough of my voice," I say and escape immediately.

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