The scene begins in near-total darkness, broken only by distant lamps and the moon partially obscured by heavy clouds. The night seemed thick, suffocating, as if the very air had weight. Between narrow alleys and uneven rooftops, a female figure rushed forward, her body forcing limits long since surpassed.
She was beautiful.
Even in her absence.
Long, white hair fluttered behind her like a ghostly trail, stained with dark blood that didn't fully reflect the light. Her crimson eyes shone frighteningly, sometimes intensely, sometimes clouded, betraying profound exhaustion. Her pale skin was cut in stitches, some wounds still open, others hastily healed. Each breath came short, tearing at her chest, as if her lungs were recovering from the insistence on continuing.
She ran.
Not by choice.
But because she wanted to die when she stopped.
