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

Chapter 428

It was a normal day when Lorelei did not wake up again.

Alira watched as a piece of her mother left with her. As they cremated her body, the flames rose high and the smoke curled into the sky. The ashes scattered on the wind, and with every grain that blew away, it took pieces of joy with her.

It was now that Alira could see why they called her mother the Devil.

Her mother became detached from the world. She did not cry. She did not speak. She did not eat. She simply painted. Day and night, she painted Lorelei—over and over and over. Her face. Her hands. Her smile. The way she looked at the sea.

Alira tried to reach her.

"Mum," she said.

Her mother did not respond.

"Daphne."

Nothing.

Alira reached for her hand. Her mother did not squeeze back.

The days that followed were hollow. Alira would occasionally receive acknowledgment from her mother, but it was not often. Most of the time, Daphne stared at her canvas, her brush moving in slow, mechanical strokes.

Alira came back from a swim one afternoon and found her other mother not breathing.

She was not surprised. She knew they could not live without each other.

She expected the loss of one meant the loss of the other. She was not particularly resentful.

She quietly, on her own, organized her other mother’s cremation too.

She noticed that the purple suspicious bird that was always around was also gone.

Life without her parents was... lonely.

The television was boring.

She left to join Marina on her ship, spending a few months enjoying life as a pirate. Then she got bored.

She incited a war between the kingdom and the merfolk by personally spreading false information and propaganda on both sides.

She got bored again, luckily before the casualties broke into an all-out war, and personally led the peace treaty between the two kingdoms.

Alira went around the world, continuously causing chaos. Sometimes she provided solutions. Other times she caused problems. Sometimes both.

Eventually, she got bored.

She sailed back to her childhood cabin.

She never left.

A tsunami soon buried the island to bits.

****

21st Century

"Nancy EastWillard is one of the most renowned female historical figures, having created the most accurate world map that helped with intercontinental trade relations and historical advancement."

The lady with glasses and a bun spoke in a museum to a group of students, standing in front of a ship—the Bunny.

"This here was discovered two hundred years ago, called the Bunny. Scientists today are yet to discover the tree it was built from, having survived centuries underwater with no tear or wear—"

"That is because they got this ship from the Devil." A male student chimed in, earning snickers of laughter from the other students.

"Yes, indeed. That is one of the prevailing theories." The historian looked bored, having given this tour over a thousand times already. There was no snarky comment she had not heard.

"As we carry on, the Bunny was home to other famous figures, like—"

"Smith the Fallen!"

Another round of snickers and laughs. A diary was found about a man who was a royal guard belonging to a long-faded Island European kingdom. It talked about how he failed his duties because he was seduced by, quote, "a brown-skinned seductress."

There had been multiple plays and movies of his life based on this.

"Technically, Smith the Fallen has not been verified as a part of the Bunny. Just contextual clues. Who else?"

"Bram Callahan." A student answered.

"Yes, though his achievement is not as widespread as Nancy EastWillard’s, he also published detailed maps of the European seas."

"Marina O’Malley."

"Yes, a renowned female pirate in an era where female pirates were nonexistent. There are accounts of how ruthless and cunning she was."

"She was also Nancy’s girlfriend." A student chimed in.

"Yes. All recent debates about their relationship were put to rest when a letter from Nancy to her was discovered, and the contents were obviously romantic."

"Duh, the queer community has been saying it all along." The girl continued, earning groans from her classmates.

The girl was an outspoken activist. She was lesbian herself, at only fourteen. The queer community had been constantly debating how Nancy and Marina were obviously lovers, but historians had tried to paint them as close friends.

It was only ten years ago, when a letter—where Nancy actively spoke about missing the embrace of her arms, the softness of her chest, and the sweetness of her lips—was discovered, that they finally agreed. The letter was even directed to my dear pirate.

The historian smiled at the girl, reminded of her younger self.

"Let us move on," she said. "During this era, there are also talks of merfolk."

"Wasn’t that debunked to be manatees?" a student asked.

"Wasn’t that debunked to be manatees?" a student asked.

"Indeed." The historian guided the students through the next exhibit. "The legend of merfolk has persisted for centuries, but no concrete evidence has ever been found. That said, the accounts from this particular period are unusually detailed. Sailors spoke of seeing creatures with tails and human torsos. Some even claimed to have spoken with them."

"Probably just drunk sailors."

"They say a prince of this era was taken to sea and never seen again," another student added.

The historian nodded. "Yes, there are records of a missing prince from one of the island kingdoms. His disappearance was never solved. Some believe he was taken by merfolk. Others believe he simply abandoned his throne."

They walked further.

"Also, there are talks about the Devil—who apparently originally sailed the Bunny. Contracts were found on the ship, as well as long-decomposed body parts—fingers, mostly. It is unknown whether this person was actually a devil or someone with quite the odd hobby."

The students exchanged glances.

"Wait, body parts?" one asked.

"Fingers," the historian confirmed. "Preserved in jars. Many of them. Some historians believe they were trophies. Others believe they were payment—a kind of currency for favors rendered."

"That is disgusting."

"History often is."

They stopped in front of a final display.

The plaque read:

The Devil: Myth or Reality?

Beneath it hung a portrait unlike any other in the museum. The painting was dark and eerie—a figure in black seated on a throne-like chair, a pirate’s hat casting deep shadows over their face. Only the lips were visible, curved into a faint, knowing smirk. On the figure’s shoulder perched a bird with feathers that seemed to shift between pink and purple, its eyes unnervingly bright.

The painting was alive with presence.

All the students fell silent.

"Okay!" The historian clapped her hands, breaking the spell. "Moving on! There are also talks of a mischievous spirit that caused—"

Her voice trailed off as the students whispered among themselves.

"They say if you stare at the painting long enough, it will move."

"You lie."

The two students stood closer.

The bird in the portrait blinked.

They jumped back.

"It moved!"

"I swear it moved!"

"Quit fooling around, guys."

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