If not for her previous experience of seeing the "Messenger", she would have lost control, stumbled up in panic, regardless of whether the tables and chairs would tip over.
Fortunately, she was no longer the little girl who knew nothing about the sea when she first boarded the White Agate. Her voice only became slightly shriller as she pointed out the window and stammered: "Th-there's a living corpse! A headless living corpse!"
She used the most common term for a zombie from folklore to describe the terrible thing she had just seen.
Cecil stood up with a swoosh, in two steps came to Donna's side, puzzled, looked out the window where the wind was raging, and examined carefully for a few seconds.
"There's nothing there," she said truthfully.
Donna shrank back, mustered her courage, carefully leaned forward, and peered out. She saw trees swaying, debris flying, not a single pedestrian.
"Just now, just now there really was! He, he was wearing a black cloak, no head, and his neck was bleeding!" Donna gestured as she spoke, trying to get the adults present to believe her.
Her father,
"But... but..." Donna tried to argue, feeling wronged.
At that moment, Clivis came up to the second floor, approached, and asked: "What happened?"
"Donna said she saw a living corpse outside, a headless living corpse," another bodyguard, Tig, explained with a slight chuckle.
Clivis was silent for two seconds, nodded to Donna: "It's okay, it'll pass. The wind is strong outside, even more dangerous. We'll leave when it calms down."
In Donna's eyes, Uncle Clivis's words indicated that he believed her and chose the safest course of action, but in Urdi's and Tig's opinion, it was a clumsy way to comfort a child.
Seeing that Donna was still nervous and the real employer was not very satisfied either, Clivis pulled out a chair and sat down, saying steadily: "Bansy Port has a peculiar custom: on nights with violent weather changes, don't leave the house and don't respond to any knocking sounds."
"If you open the door, that living corpse will grab you?" Dannton, who had seen the skeletal messenger with his sister, asked with sudden understanding.
"That's one way to put it," Clivis picked up a glass of water and took a sip.
So that's it... Donna calmed down, believing that as long as she didn't leave the restaurant, she wouldn't encounter that terrifying living corpse again.
Only then did she realize that the other diners had already turned their attention to them due to the commotion.
Under the gaze of many eyes, Donna felt extremely uncomfortable, instinctively wanting to lower her head and avoid everything.
I didn't do anything wrong! I really saw it! Donna stubbornly straightened her neck and looked around.
She saw gentlemen in tailcoats and ladies in beautiful dresses withdrawing their gazes, saw them lower their heads, pick up spoons, and scoop dark red blood clumps seasoned with various spices from porcelain bowls into their mouths.
Their lips were stained bright red, their faces looked quite pale under the light of the crystal chandelier, the contrast striking, and Donna inexplicably felt a sense of panic.
She hurriedly turned her head forward, waiting for dinner, and silently prayed to the goddess, hoping the wind would stop soon.
............
Bansy Port Telegraph Office.
Ireland and his first mate had just finished sending an intelligence report to the navy when they noticed the wind howling outside, rattling doors and windows.
"Really, the weather here is always so unstable," Ireland said with a sigh and a smile, putting on his sailor cap.
His first mate Harris laughed: "Otherwise why would it be called 'the weather museum'?"
"You'd better not go out; legend says you might lose your head," a telegraph office worker, a young woman with brown curly hair, warned slowly.
"I know, but I've tried it a few times and nothing happened," Harris said unconcernedly, about to pull the door open and leave.
Ireland stopped him, thought for a moment, and said: "Is it okay to go to the church next door? Your telegraph office should be closing, right?"
"No problem," the brown-haired young woman said, still speaking slowly.
Ireland nodded, pulled open the door of the telegraph office, and struggled against the wind that could lift a child, heading towards the Storm Church a few dozen meters away.
First mate Harris, holding onto his hat, walked beside the captain, seeming to want to express that they could just rush straight back to the White Agate.
But as soon as he opened his mouth, wind rushed in, stifling all his words.
After stammering for a while, he wisely shut his mouth, no longer making obviously unrealistic proposals.
It was a quarter to seven, still early evening, and the door of the Storm Church was still open to the faithful.
The wind became much gentler here, at least Ireland and Harris no longer had to worry about their hats abandoning them.
Entering the church and walking down the dark, solemn corridor, they stepped into the main prayer hall and saw a man in a dark blue pastor's robe sitting in the front row, quietly staring at the giant "Storm Emblem" on the altar, composed of symbols of wind, waves, and thunder.
Ireland smiled and approached, patting the familiar figure on the shoulder: "Jess, where's your bishop?"
After the pat, the pastor's head wobbled noticeably.
Then it fell forward, thudded onto the ground, and rolled.