The British Island was shrouded in a thin layer of purple mist. From a distance, it resembled a giant silkworm cocoon, exuding an eerie, unnatural aura.
Any sane person would avoid this place, yet a massive ship was slowly steering into the fog.
Anna, dressed in a tight, bright-red dress, stood at the very front of the ship's bow like a figurehead.
As the massive ship drew closer, the sailors on deck collapsed in agony. With cloth stuffed in their ears and bandages wrapped around their eyes, they lay on the ground, their mouths agape, shouting incoherent phrases.
Anna glanced at them without a care and continued to look forward.
The fog was not very thick, and Anna soon saw the disheveled British Island. No, it shouldn't be called British Island anymore, but rather the British Isles.
The great landmass of the island had fractured. Some parts had sunk to the seabed, while others lay askew on the water's surface.
