Cold was the dark, bleak night. A chilling glow graced the fallen beauty, the very light drawn to her still figure. The pale blue sect robe adhering to the beauty's dainty frame billowed while silken, inky hair strands outlining her narrow shoulders swayed in the breeze.
Li Meirong's eyes were peacefully shut. A pair of long lashes cast dark shadows upon her waxy and pallid complexion. A coat of fresh blood stained her breasts, no longer rising and falling to the rhythm of a heartbeat. Like a black hole, the scarlet gradually expanded and cascaded down her sides.
Wherever her blood dripped, fragrant herbs and baby pink flowers began to sprout from the earthly crust.
A boy with hair in the shape of leaves and skin the colour of a young turnip silently beheld the vision in front of him. He was too frightened to move. Too terrified to speak.
