A bit surprised, Nightingale managed to lift his heavy eyelids. As his vision gradually cleared, he saw a pristine mask staring down at him.
Flaming Rose knelt beside him and placed her hand on his chest, her presence looming yet strangely gentle. Up close, her pale pink hair caught his attention. It was stunning, gorgeous and almost ethereal.
It looked otherworldly, or at least that was the closest way to describe it.
The more he examined it, the more artificial it seemed. Come to think of it, how many people did he know with naturally pink hair? Very few. Pink was hardly a natural hair color, and the only way someone could have it was by dyeing it that shade.
The only person he knew with naturally colored hair was Chloe, whose silvery-white locks perfectly complemented her tanned skin and gray eyes.
