Can't you see?

The line that separates good and evil is so thin you wouldn't even notice crossing it. It's so simple to make social distinctions based on your own beliefs, or your own fold, or whatever it is that you associate yourself with, so stubbornly that the notion of even trying to understand the motives of another person might be disgusting to you. That's not to say that some folk aren't wholly good or wholly evil, but if things were always so simple, we would be able to communicate those ideas more clearly. I was one of those people, once - someone, who, from an outsider's perspective would've been called troubled or irredeemable. But, even with all of those painful memories restored, I don't have the capacity to understand what drove me to do the kinds of things that I did. Even pushing forward with this newly-found purpose, so sure of myself that forgiveness is still within reach, might not be the right way of going about it.

I don't really understand a thing anymore. In the blink of an eye, I've suddenly been wrapped up in these ridiculous circumstances that outshadow my own, being towed along as if I'll be able to make any real difference. Do I 'suffer', because of that? This whole philosophy I've devised - these perfect steps to redemption that I've meticulously carved out and become so sure of, how can I say I'm abiding by any of it? In retrospect, have I really improved at all? It's a complicated set of thoughts decided out of necessity rather than any particular kind of belief. Having become my own person once again, I've let my ambitions be decided by others as though letting them trample over me will atone for anything.

Cecil is starting to get tired of all this, as well. Lab 8's researchers are taking the opportunity to conduct just about every test that tickles their fancy. Whether any of the results can be called useful doesn't matter to them - being the first group of people to get their hands on a real, genuine, living Skullgirl has clouded their judgement. But maybe I'm making it sound a little more hopeless than it really is. Some obvious conclusions are being drawn here and there, although I can't really understand a lot of the terminology they're throwing around. Big Band phrased it like Cecil wasn't acting violent like she should because the Skull Heart hadn't fully 'matured' yet, whatever that could mean.

A radio with terrible, grainy reception is at least keeping me updated about the situation unfolding on the other side of the city. The press are desperate to know if the attack on Medici Tower was some kind of assassination attempt, and where the attackers had vanished to. The reporter is making it sound like the police are at a complete loss on what to do, but it sounds like things had gone smoother than expected for the girls. I wonder if Squigly managed to make it there in time. She was also looking for something like me, buried beneath a layer of unfeeling hatred, grasping at straws as to what was the right thing to do, or say. Maybe she's also arrived at the thought that it's all just too complicated for one person to understand.

It's around about then that the omnipresent murmering in the room comes to an abrupt stop, and suddenly all eyes are on the tall figure making its way through the doors. In the dim light of the laboratory, C can't quite discern the finer details, but whatever it is that's suddenly entered the room clearly can't be called human. A number of sharp, equidistant spokes flare out from a metallic headcase glimmering in the pale yellowness of the ceiling lamp. Something salmon and wrinkled seems to pulse through the thick glass. The room fills with whispers collecting into an unintelligible static as the coated man walks silently towards the cobbled workspace that had been steadily constructing itself around Cecil. By the time he's there, Big Band has already stepped in his way.

"How'd you find out about this?" He asks plainly.

"Birdland." No sound comes from the man's mechanical mouth, but his voice is heard all the same, "None of the lab's researchers can help this girl."

"You've got another thing comin' if you think I'm about to hand her over to you."

"A live specimen is an opportunity that will never present itself again in either of our lifetimes." He continues calmly, "If the Skull Heart can be extracted and securely contained in some way, it's possible that the Skullgirl threat could end as early as tomorrow morning."

"And how do you plan on doing that without killin' the poor girl?"

"The clock is not on our side." He answers coldly, "We do not have the time required to devise a solution that would spare the girl's life. Extracting the Heart too carefully would give it the time it needs to escape. Immediately submerging it in a solution of Skullgirl blood would fool it into remaining stable for as long as it might take to hypothesise a situation where it may be restrained permanently. Ideally, the fluid used would contain the girl's own blood, to ensure the experiment proceeds smoothly."

"Very like you, to have it all planned out as if nothin's gonna stop you."

"I don't expect to have to fight for any of this." He predicts, "With Doctor Avian gone, I don't believe you have much of a choice."

Big Band doesn't have a retort for that. While it's no lie that the Anti-Skullgirl Labs are staffed with some of the country's brightest minds, none of them are specialised to deal with the Skullgirl specifically. Lab 8's only purpose is to further the research into synthetic parasites - to house and maintain manufactured Anti-Skullgirl weapons like Peacock and Leduc. The crown had decomissioned the other facilities following the defeat of Queen Nancy, on direct orders from King Renoir, but Lab 8 must have flown under the radar. Lab 0, while not filed under public records, was created solely to study the applications that Skullgirl blood could have on the struggle, given full permission to step beyond the marked line of ethics that the others were straddled with. But it was no secret now that the monsters created through Lab 0's experiments pushed the boundaries of what could be called progress.

"Buzz off, chrome dome!" Peacock suddenly interrupts, "The girl ain't goin' nowhere!"

"Calm down, Patricia." Big Band urges, "And B.D. - if you ever feel like dreamin' up a tamer solution, feel free to come back anytime. Otherwise, I don't wanna see your face in my lab ever again. Got it?"

The coated scientist turns around with the confidence of someone who's heard exactly what they thought they would, "Very well. I'll leave the girl in your capable hands. At least until all of your other options dry up, as I'm sure they will."

He seems to drag the sinister atmosphere out of the room with him. Despite not knowing who he is, even C can't help but breath a sigh of relief afterwards. It takes a few moments for the whitecoats to rediscover their giddiness, but as they do, it almost seems like nothing had happened at all. Big Band seems to be the only one exasperated by the encounter. C breezes over to him with a worrisome look on his face.

"So that was..." He begins.

Big Band nods, "Brain Drain."

"Was what he was saying true?" He continues, "That nobody here can help Cecil?"

"Guy has a way of gettin' under your skin, doesn't he?" The gargantuan man stands up straight, "Don't think about it too much. He's just tryin' to get his way."

"Sounds like the Skullgirl is something everyone's after."

"Kid, you've got no idea." He jokes, "Doc woulda had a field day if he was still here. Maybe I'm not playin' it up as much as I should, but trust me, this right here is history in the making."

Like C had thought, Cecil's become some kind of universal commodity that every organised group in the country wants a piece of. In a flash, the issue of their strained relationship has suddenly taken a back seat to something greater. The problem envelops anything he's capable of doing - no matter how deeply he thinks about it, this is the sort of situation that only professionals can handle. And yet, Brain Drain's words attacked the possibility that anything could be done at all. With nothing else to else, and afraid that he'll only end up with more to worry about, C approaches Cecil as the ravenous crowd surrounding her disperses for a quick recess. More than anything else, she seems annoyed at being forced to lay still for so long, so much so that her expression softens slightly as C pulls a rickety chair towards the table she sits up on.

"Today's been a strange day." He sums half-jokingly.

"Hm..." She closes her eyes, "Why'd you come here, anyway? What happened to that girl you were with?"

"That's way too long of a story to tell right now."

"Were the two of you on a date?"

"That's a difficult question to answer..." C pauses, "How do I put it - her reason for coming here was a little too fateful for it to be something like that."

Cecil stares down to hide her smirk, "...That doesn't tell me anything."

"You could say it's a secret." He wonders if that really is the case, considering how public the attack on Medici Tower had become, "How're you holding up?"

"I hate hospitals."

He smiles, "This isn't a hospital."

"Labs, hospitals, clinics - anywhere with doctors, I don't like." She elaborates, "It makes me anxious waiting to see if any of them can help me."

She feels the same way he does. Although there's a need to convince Cecil that, somehow, everything will turn out alright in the end, C has a hard enough time just telling himself that. Neither of them can be hopeful when so many things are outside of their control. Without even knowing how long they had, what good would it do telling her she needed to be optimistic? It's almost laughable how little say they have in any of this.

"...How did you find the Skull Heart?" He asks.

Cecil stares at the ground, "Some creepy nun showed it to me. She said I wouldn't become a Skullgirl as long as my wish wasn't selfish."

"Whereabouts?"

"In an old cathedral downtown." She answers, "If I hadn't listened to her, none of this would have happened..."

"Sounds to me like there's only one thing to do." C hops up from his chair, "I'll go have a chat with her."

Yet as he spins to march on ahead, Cecil reaches out to pull on his sleeve.

"You can't." Her defeated tone makes it seem like the idea had crossed her mind before, "She- well, I don't know what it's supposed to be, but it's dangerous."

Again, he can't help but feel strange accepting worry from someone who only a few days ago wanted nothing to do with him. In a way, he realises it then - that the unnatural barrier between them had been reflecting any of his hopeful wishes that things might improve. Blinded by anger, or frustration, or whatever it is that had made it so difficult for them to communicate, neither of them had given an inch in seeing one-another as beyond hope. Stepping over those seemingly impassable borders, relying on not just the virtue of some pointless sacrifice, reignites something like a hope in him. He understands so little that even small realisations like these seem like great leaps of progress. Naturally, a smirk comes to his face as if nothing's wrong.

"Maybe a few weeks ago, I was the kind of person who'd want to charge in and get things done quickly." He muses, "But, some problems I really can't handle by myself, huh?"

Yawning, he takes a few steps towards the lab doors.

"I've been relying on some people a little too much lately." He finishes, "...Or, does something like that not really exist? I guess that's what friends are for."

"Urgh..." Cecil holds her hands over her eyes, "You still talk too much, even after losing your memories."

"I'll come back with something useful." He walks off, "Hopefully."

"Hmph." Somehow, she can't help but feel a little hopeful, "...Be careful."

As another sun sets on New Meridian, the huddled crowd of sharply-dressed reporters staked out at the skyscraper's entrance begin to scatter, having lost their ravenous zeal for a story. When the headlines of tomorrow morning are stuffed into their boxes and peddled for pennies on street corners, all that will be said of the attack on Medici Tower is that nobody can know for certain who was behind it. It's only as the streetlamps turn on, when even the most fervent of the crowd have given up for good, that Filia makes her overdue exit from the building. She savours the first breath of fresh air outside of that stuffy place for as long as this feeling of freedom lasts.

"That took way too long..." She mutters, "Who knew the family business would be so complicated?"

"You don't sound too happy about it." Samson's muffled voice replies from beneath her hat.

"No, I am." She stands up straight, "We should've done this a long time ago."

"Even though nothing's gonna change?" He asks, "I didn't hear anythin' about the Medici mending their ways anytime soon."

"You're not very good at reading people, Samson."

"Might've helped if I coulda seen him."

"I thought we were pushing the envelope a little..." She scratches the back of her head, "Maybe I'll introduce you properly next time."

Samson is never satisfied with anything, but his silence is proof enough to Filia that he's at least content with how things are at the moment. For her, at least, standing out here in the shadow of her family's legacy, today had certainly been one seemingly insurmountable thing after another. What was once a wish for the future just last week had flowered into this impossible drive to accomplish what she thought she never could. Taking one step after another, running into problems every other minute - in a way, it feels just like that time one year ago, when it seemed like so many fates had been caught up in one unbelievable story.

"Let's go get somethin' to eat, kid." Samson suggests, "While the rain's stopped."

"I wonder where everyone else went..." Filia closes her eyes, "We should go look for them."

"Hold up." His abruptness stops her in her tracks, "...You smell that?"

"No?" The air is cold, but nothing hits her as offensive, "Do you even have a nose?"

"Nah, there's definitely..." He pauses again, "Feels like I know it from somewhere."

"How about you focus on sniffing out someplace nice to eat?" She waves off, "I'm getting kind of peckish, too."

"Yeah, yeah..." Samson blocks out the strange scent, "Get us outta here first. That tower's startin' to creep me out."

"Theo...nite?" A melodious voice repeats curiously.

Leviathan's come down with a terrible case of the inflammable hiccups after getting a little too excited during the fight with Black Dahlia. On their haphazard walk looping around the buildings surrounding Medici Tower, the serpent had suddenly perked up from his mild indigestion, having caught a familiar, metallic smell carrying on the wind. Squigly repeats the word as if the meaning of it will magically come to her. A short plume of flame billows out from Leviathan's nostril before he responds.

"I suppose it isn't something humans would be particularly familiar with." He begins, "Truth be told, not even we parasites understand what it truly is."

"It isn't dangerous, is it?"

"Not normally, no." He answers, "Or rather, it's more correct to say that left alone, it isn't dangerous in the slightest."

"You're sayin' it's suddenly bad news if someone gets their hands on it?" Cerebella, hovering near the front of the group, suddenly joins in.

"Not quite. The Anti-Skullgirl Labs put it to some beneficial use, I'm aware." Leviathan explains, "The danger manifests in theonite's connection to the Skull Heart."

"Hoh." Cerebella folds her arms, "Almost seems like everything gets tracked back to the Skullgirl these days."

"This is what worries me..." He hangs his head, "Bloody Marie, and Lady Selene before her - only on those occasions, where me and Squigly found ourselves confronting the Skullgirls face-to-face, do I ever recall sensing this strange odour."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, pencil-neck, but there's no way another Skullgirl's risen this early."

"Even so..." Leviathan mutters, "...Perhaps I'm simply being paranoid. The smell doesn't remind me of anything pleasant, I suppose."

"Please try to be a little more hopeful, Leviathan." Squigly encourages, "All of that business is behind us now."

"If only it would cease rearing its ugly head, then all would be well." He replies grimly, "But I must say, we've been circling this building for a while now."

"I was expecting to see Filia at some point." Just to be sure, she looks behind her, "Or C."

"Huh?" Cerebella pauses, "He's here too?"

Squigly nods, "It was his idea to follow you all here."

"How come he wasn't at the tower?"

"He seemed preoccupied with his own problems, so I tried to cheer him up a little." She answers, "Although, I think it may have worked a little too well. I haven't seen him since."

"Even though we're talking about finding each-other..." Cerebella rubs her nose, "What the hell are we gonna do after? It's not like we're gettin' out of the city anytime soon."

"I can't imagine this absurd training exercise will carry on for much longer."

"Well, I've got a trailer at the circus if we get really desperate." She offers, "Gettin' kinda late, huh..."

"And yet I'm hardly tired at all." Squigly stops to stare at the sky, "Perhaps I still haven't calmed down from today's events."

"Gotta admit, I wasn't expectin' a show like that from you of all people." She smirks, "I mean, Filia told me you weren't a pushover, but I didn't see that coming."

"Regrettably, I've had more experience with this sort of thing than I'm comfortable admitting."

Her life - or, more correctly, her un-life, is a difficult thing to fully explain. Once before, she had claimed some kind of recurrent destiny, cursed to rise from her grave once every seven years, and for what? Only to fight, as she would watch her allies shrivel up and disappear over the centuries, with only Leviathan to keep her company in the cold eternity of her sleepless death. But even that shred of pride, knowing she was going to be doing at least some good, was shattered. Inexplicably, that existence had been replaced by a new lease on the world of the living, forced to live in the recently-cast shadow of her family's death, to cover up her identity and be left simmering in an unwholesome day-to-day routine. Until recently, she had resigned herself to that; just being there, without closure or acceptance. If it hadn't been for her friends - the ones who had spurred her on to come here, could she have found this salvation on her own terms?

No. And, like that, the ending she strived for had been nothing but suffering, a perpetual wheel of agony that had to be stopped. She suffers even now, just imagining Black Dahlia alive and well, but there would have been no reason to any pointless murder. What had been done, had been done. Right or wrong, she reserved that right to show it - not forgiveness or mercy, but something different, not completely understood. Only now, her future is open, unchained by these spectres of the past. The path forward is shrouded in darkness, but a new rebirth, she knows, must await her in there.

"Hey, drink up." Filia encourages, "You're gonna catch a cold if you don't warm up."

"How do I put this..." C pauses, "I've only just decided that coffee might not be my type of thing after all."

"Tell me that before I buy you one!"

It really is freezing. Something about his drive or determination had made him forget about the cold, but the cool nighttime breeze and his soaked-through uniform had suddenly caught up to him in a bad way. At least, he thinks, someone he recognises has finally shown up. Moving through the motions of some greater force, pushed along by responsibility or the fear that acting independently would only land him in hot water - just seeing a friendly face is like a breath of fresh air. Filia had retold the chaotic events at the tower over a coffee break like she might have described a weekend afternoon. It's not only C, suddenly confronting his problems head-on, who's been affected by this sudden buzz.

"It's all a little sudden..." He looks into his espresso like it might give him some answers, "Would Squigly be alright with you telling me all of this?"

"Now you're the one lecturing me about privacy." She smirks, "I thought you wanted to know about this stuff?"

"Is it right to say that I've 'changed' at all?" He asks himself, more than anyone else, "It's not really me who gets to decide that, is it?"

"Well, I'm telling you right now that you have, so isn't that enough?" She replies, "Squigly would've told you herself. I'm sure of it."

"Contiello..." C repeats, "All the pieces were there, but I couldn't put them together."

"Just like your memories, huh?"

Somehow, he can't help but smile.

"No." He shakes his head, "Not anymore."

"Huh!?" She leans forward, "You remembered something!?"

"Don't phrase it like I forget every little thing..." C clasps his hands, "Is it really that surprising? I told you it'd all come back at some point."

"Open with that next time!" She feigns annoyance, "...But, that's great, right!? Aren't you happy?"

"Not really." He answers honestly, "Some crazy stuff's happened today, and I've ended up getting myself involved in something way out of my league."

Where does he start? Filia barely even knows who Cecil is, nevermind that she's slowly becoming the new Skullgirl. How does he put an explanation together in a situation like this? Even if he can get the point across, there's no telling if Filia will actually be able to help.

"Kid." A voice speaks, "Take the hat off and lemme speak to this guy."

Filia's eyes widen as she brings down the hem of her hat tight, trying to muffle the voice. Surprised, C spends a few seconds looking around the café for its source, understandably a little confused when he notices that the only other customers were ones sitting at tables on the other side of the room.

"Did you hear that?" He tries to confirm he's not hearing things with the distressed girl.

"No? I mean- hear what?"

"Damn it, kid! I'm gonna suffocate like this!" The voice protests.

Then, perhaps from a simple fear of having her hat torn, Filia loosens her grip enough for Samson to pop out from beneath her bonnet, the alabaster summer cap falling gently to the floor. At first, C isn't entirely certain of what he's supposed to be seeing - Filia's raven lengths of hair coalesce into discernable shapes, each moving under the influence of some strange thing. The motions aren't unlike the stretching someone would do after a long nap. Just over the top of her head, C can spot something that seems to glimmer in the dull light.

"She tries to hide me, but it ain't like everyone doesn't find out at some point..." The voice is clearer now.

"Even so, you could've at least let me do it in my own time!" The girl replies furiously, "You're gonna give someone a heart attack doing stuff like this!"

"Couldn't really help it." It says simply, "And you!"

A tendril, black as the night sky, reaches across the table with blinding speed and hovers near the tip of C's nose, making him nearly fall out of his chair.

"I knew I recognised that smell from somewhere!" It continues, "Pure theonite! And this damn kid reeks of it!"

It's a word that C's heard before. When he and Cecil were busy being incarcerated, Big Band had thrown out that term like it was supposed to mean something to them. But even so, his mind is a little more awash with different thoughts right now. The Canopy Kingdom was home to some unbelievable stuff, for sure, but he couldn't have predicted he was going to find himself talking to a lump of hair at some point when he got booted out of that taxi.

"Sorry about this, C." Filia apologises out of the blue, "He gets like this."

He breaths in, having forgotten to do so.

"Could I ask who he is?"

"Promise you won't be mad at me for not telling you."

"No, no, it's not like that..." He waves his hand, "Stranger things, and so on. I just don't really understand what I'm looking at."

"How do I explain this..." "I'm a parasite, you dumbass."

The bundle of hair, whose moon-coloured eyes track C half-lidded, speaks over Filia to explain that to him.

"Samson!" She yells, "He might not know what those are! Do parasites even exist outside of the Canopy Kingdom?"

"Ah, they're pretty rare, but I have heard of a few before." C replies.

Her eyes darting from him to Samson, Filia sighs and splays her arms across the table, "How come you never freak out about anything?"

"It's always good to have a level head." He answers, smiling, "-That said, I am pretty surprised."

"I would've told you someday, it's just..." She pauses, "...You know, a lot of people look down on parasites, and stuff."

"Must be annoying for both of you, having to wear that hat all the time." He stares at the spot where it fell.

Samson chuckles, "At least he gets it."

"If anyone found out a Medici like me was hosting a parasite, there'd be a huge scandal." Filia continues, "I think, maybe that's one of the reasons Lorenzo doesn't want me around."

"You said you had a chat with him, right? Isn't that what you came here to do?"

She nods, "I just wanted some answers, but it ended up turning into something more important along the way. I have Samson here, along with everyone else, to thank for getting me up there in the first place. Parasites aren't evil creatures."

"Don't worry about it. They don't really bother me at all. I think he's pretty cool, actually." He sits back, relaxing for once, "Any other secret parasites I should know about?"

Filia blinks.

"Uh..." She stammers, "...W-Well, you never know, I guess."

All of a sudden, Samson's innumerable tendrils begin flailing to grab the duo's attention.

"Hey hey, catchin' up's all well and good, but can we focus on somethin' more important for a second?" He asks, "This kid's got the Skullgirl's stink all over him."

"You say that, but I don't smell anything..." Filia retorts, "And, why would that matter anyway? We're another six years out from the next Skullgirl."

"No!" C suddenly speaks up, "That's not right."

"Huh?"

"The next Skullgirl..."

Of course, he can rely on this excuse as much as he pleases - that he's been meaning to mention it the whole time, but what kind of plea is he really making? Abandoning all grandiose thoughts of solving the problem himself, does bothering Filia for more help than he's entitled to really seem fair at all? Or, is this what he was trying to sound cool about before? These kinds of casual reliances and expectations, being able to just ask like this - is overthinking it really going to get him anywhere? Again, he doesn't know the answer himself. But a tightening in his chest forces him to try something, at least. As painful as it might be, he's too far into these convictions of his to back out now.

"...Is here, In New Meridian."

On a rain-slicked street corner, a coated shadow stands twirling the coiled wire of a payphone around her finger. The voice on the other side is gruff, almost exhausted, marred by a grainy overtone that makes his voice difficult to listen to. Stationed around - hidden in alleyways and bus stations, peeking out from high-rise windows, with their colourless uniforms invisible in the night, the Egrets are prepared to pounce at any sign of trouble. Princess Parasoul's vermillion hair reflects the first rays of the moonlight as her quiet conversation continues.

"I see..." Her voice is quiet, "This is a difficult situation."

"I mean, I'm not sayin' we can't do anything, but..." The voice replies, "...It's startin' to look like we might not be able to do anything, is all I'm sayin'."

"This isn't really the time for jokes, you know."

"Sorry, princess. Call it a coping mechanism."

"If the worst comes to pass, the doctor's assistance might be required after all."

"With all due respect, ma'am..." The voice pauses, "...There ain't no way in hell I'm about to let that happen."

"I appreciate the girl's circumstances, Birdland." Parasoul responds, "If something like this happened to Umbrella..."

She doesn't keep that thought for long, "Is there an estimate on how much time we have left?"

Big Band chuckles over the line. It's a laugh devoid of any emotion, as if his soul was being carried out with it.

"...Two hours."

"T-Two!?" Her surprise doesn't suit her normal attitude.

"Well, maybe two-and-a-half if we're lucky." He replies, as if saying that makes it any more bearable, "...Or, one-and-a-half if we ain't."

Parasoul clears her throat before continuing.

"So even with the tools to detect it, we still can't buy any decent amount of time."

"Then it's time for us to quit yappin' and get to lookin'." Big Band resolves, "Even that kid is tryin' his best right now..."

"What was that, Birdland?"

"I said there's no time to waste." He rectifies, "The whitecoats here are workin' overtime, so you should be too."

"I..." A short silence lingers, "...Yes, you're right. It's my responsibility to make sure this doesn't come to pass, more than anyone else."

"That's the spirit, princess." Big Band's voice seems to perk up, "Get in contact if you turn up anythin'. I'll do the same."

"Of course. Goodbye, Birdland."

The streets are as silent as a mouse as she clicks the handset back into its spot. A subtle, nondescript hand gesture motions to the Egrets surrounding the road that the time has come to move on. A chill wind blows through the city tonight, as even the night-crawling citizens make their preparations for bed, shutting off their lights, unaware of the threat hanging just inches over their heads.

This city - New Meridian, for all of its tumorous crime and gaudy nightlife, remains the same unpolished jewel Parasoul had seen as she grew up by her parents' side. Even now, more than a month after her father's disapperance, the question lingers in the back of her head if she's truly ready to protect it. Big Band's words had struck some fearful chord in her, made her aware of these inadequacies about her family's rule. Does the royal family still have what it takes to defend the Canopy Kingdom from the Skullgirl? With the loyalty of her soldiers, and the cooperation of specialists from the Anti-Skullgirl Labs, can she be allowed to have these doubts about herself?

Her watch is studded with water - hands warping and contorting strangely through colourless raindrops.

00:02

-END OF CHAPTER-

Hey sorry about the late chapter. Things should be back to normal now.