She had once again reverted to that powerless girl.
Filly's bloody tears dripped onto the sword hilt, and she let out a breath that smelled of blood, rasping out a word of thanks to no one in particular, "Thank you."
When she lifted her head, beneath the damp golden hair was a stubborn face with tightly pressed lips.
"Don't touch the Holy Grail."
A whisper, origin unknown, reached her ears. Filly almost felt like laughing. Did she still stand a chance of victory now? How could she possibly touch the Holy Grail? And even if she won, she would surely hand the Grail to Ash's disposal, but now...
It's already... too late.
I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry...
Since we met, I haven't accomplished a single thing, always troubling everyone... The hope that we finally found, lost again...
I can't save myself, I can't save anyone... I don't even have a weapon anymore!
