Mom or Lavinia

Wilbur seemed completely unconcerned that Hope might run away. After removing the iron chain, he simply let Hope follow behind him.

The light outside the room made Hope close his eyes instinctively. It felt like sunlight.

He slowly opened them to a slit and gradually adjusted, only to discover that the blinding light came from nothing more than an oil lamp.

Wilbur stood beside the lamp, waiting for him.

"Stop looking. And stop sighing about how 'kerosene lamps are prettier than electric lights.' Grandfather doesn't like electric lights, but that's only because he hates Karl Miller."

I wasn't going to say that... But it sounds like electric lights had only just been invented in this world.

"Who is Karl Miller?"

"The man who invented the electric light."

Not Edison?

Hope silently noted down the name "Karl Miller" and the new family member, "Grandfather."

The previous owner didn't like them... Fine. One generation of Hope disliked electric lights. I should assume there had been four Hopes before me, so the one who disliked electric lights probably wasn't the first generation.

Wilbur pointed to one side. "You can look in the mirror first."

How thoughtful. Hope thought. He knows exactly what I want to do most.

The previous Hopes had probably asked before.

He walked in the direction Wilbur had pointed. He could not see the path at all, yet he still strode forward as usual.

Suddenly, he felt weightless. His next step did not land on solid ground and instead continued falling uncontrollably.

Looking down, he saw an unnatural patch of darkness in the floor stretching ahead beneath the warm yellow lamplight.

Was this a staircase?

Was this the second floor?

And the mirror was hanging beside the stairs?

Hope stepped into empty air. Completely unprepared, he lost his balance and was about to go down the stairs at top speed.

His new body was about to suffer multiple scrapes and bruises. Considering it had not seen sunlight for years and probably lacked calcium, he might even break a few bones.

Fuck!

A huge hand reached out. Wilbur reacted in time, grabbing Hope's shoulder from behind and pulling him back.

Hope let out a soft breath, allowing his soul to return to his body. "Thank you."

There's more hair on the back of his hand than on my legs...

"You're welcome. I forgot to warn you."

Hope leaned in front of the mirror. It was an oval half-length mirror with a yellow-painted composite wood frame. Some of the backing had peeled away, making the reflection blurry.

He finally saw what he looked like now.

He was probably around one meter eighty, a head shorter than his brother. He looked European, with a high nose bridge and deep-set eyes. He was not ugly, surprisingly, and he did not look like a goat.

By every measure, he looked nothing like Wilbur. Maybe Wilbur was not his biological brother.

White hair. Skin as pale as he had seen earlier. Was that because he had never seen sunlight?

He leaned closer and saw that his irises were an odd pink.

Albinism.

A defect in melanin production. The skin, hair, and eyes all lacked melanin. It caused sensitivity to light and a preference for darkness, made the eyes more light-sensitive, and increased the risk of skin cancer.

"Done looking?" Wilbur asked.

"Done."

"You're pretty quiet this time."

So I wasn't quiet last time.

"What did I say after looking in the mirror last time?"

"Like a madman, you shouted, 'Why is it a man?' Then you started touching your body and even tried to take off your pants. It was... disgusting."

Hope imagined the scene Wilbur had described.

It really was disgusting.

He silently marked Number Four Hope's gender as female.

After hesitating, he added another note: or pervert.

He remembered something else.

Actually, Wilbur's attitude toward me is pretty decent. I can't see any grudge between us. Could Hope have been locked up because they thought he had a mental illness?

"Hope?"

Someone suddenly appeared before him. While Hope and Wilbur had been talking, she had slowly climbed the stairs with a book in her arms and brought her face close to Hope's.

It was the face of a middle-aged woman, a head shorter than Hope. Her individual features could be considered pretty, but they were not positioned well enough, and together they made people uncomfortable.

Her hair, eyebrows, and skin were all white like Hope's, and her irises were pink as well.

At the same time, a string of numbers appeared in Hope's mind:

1.00, 1.44, 0.64, 1.99

Overall, they were lower than Wilbur's. The first number was roughly equal to Wilbur's 0.98, the second was a little lower, and the third was only half of Wilbur's.

There were still too few points of reference to find any pattern.

"Are you going for a walk?" the woman asked.

Was this Hope's mother?

"I'm just going to see the pets," Hope answered.

"Then you're going for a walk." The woman looked at Wilbur, who stood to the side. "Take me with you."

"Lavinia, you'd better not come along and cause trouble," Wilbur replied.

"You should call me 'Mother.' You should show me some respect! I'm not causing trouble. I don't want to be alone in this house!"

"Grandfather will keep you company."

"But he's about to die! Hope, I'm coming with you. You don't mind, do you?"

Grandfather was about to die?

"Uh... of course I don't mind."

Hope could sense Wilbur getting angry, but he truly could not find a reason to refuse.

"Lavinia, stop making trouble!" Wilbur practically growled, but his tone immediately softened.

"Mother, I bought some cookies in town yesterday. I haven't had the chance to tell you. While my brother and I are out, you can enjoy them all by yourself."

"You yelled at me," Lavinia said. "I'm your mother!"

She went around Hope and threw herself at Wilbur. Like a chick throwing itself against a stone pillar, she could not even make the large Wilbur sway.

But she did rumple Wilbur's clothes. In Hope's view, Wilbur's face began to show more red.

"Get off me, you shrew!" He shoved Lavinia away.

Hope reached out to steady Lavinia, preventing her from accidentally falling down the stairs.

What was going on? Their relationship was this bad?

Lavinia regained her footing. "Wilbur, if you don't let me come, I'll tell Father. He'll punish you!"

"Grandfather won't listen to you." Wilbur straightened his clothes, restoring their neat appearance.

"He will, he will!" Lavinia said with certainty. "First, he's my father. Only then is he your grandfather."

She jumped to the wall—not the wall of Hope's room, but the one opposite it—and ran her hand over it. "And if he won't listen to me, then what's inside here..."

Wilbur seized Lavinia by the throat.

Lavinia groaned in pain. The unnatural flush on her face stood out even more against her white skin.

"Hey!"

Hope grabbed at Wilbur's hand. "Let her go first!"

Wilbur panted heavily, looking at Lavinia as though she were his sworn enemy.

Hope's pulling did nothing, so he used both hands to pry Wilbur's fingers apart.

"Hope! Get lost!"

"You're the one who should get lost! That's your mother!"

Two hands were ultimately stronger than one. No matter how unwilling Wilbur was, he slowly released his grip.

Hope pushed Wilbur away and supported Lavinia, who was about to faint.

"Mm..." Hope still could not bring himself to call this woman Mother. "Lavinia, should I help you rest?"

"No, I want to go for a walk with you," Lavinia said, her voice noticeably weaker. "Go talk to him. Make him let me come."

Hope looked at Wilbur. "What harm is there in letting her come along?"

"She's nothing but trouble!" Wilbur said. He looked at the two of them, shifting his gaze from Lavinia's face to Hope's, then back again.

"You can come, but don't expect me to help you deal with any trouble."

"If Father weren't bedridden, you wouldn't dare speak to me like that," Lavinia said quietly. "Hope is still better."