The moonlight was intense.
Deep within the slums, an abandoned area.
Still as deathly silent as before.
The ripples in space quietly subsided, and the stagnant silhouette with black hair vanished from where it stood, along with the smoothed-out folds.
"Drip, drip."
Crimson blood gushed uncontrollably from the throat wound, almost pooling into a small puddle on the ground.
The golden-haired Elf, however, seemed to feel no pain, maintaining that bizarre twisted stance, with a face as cold and stiff as a corpse.
She slightly raised her head.
Her unfocused, vacant eyes reflected the perfect Silver Moon in the middle of the sky.
Gazing at the field's canopy, in the soft swaying of gossamer-like white moonlight.
There was no exchange.
Perhaps it was imperceptible to ordinary people.
Much like a fleeting gentle breeze.
When the Elf withdrew her gaze, that soft moonlight, like silk and mist, gradually dissolved into the depths of the night.
Thud—
