The sound of a strong wind that envelops the entirety of the space. The arctic breeze that lingers around the premises. The world is yet again was in a state of gloom, where no one would dare to pierce through. It was raining heavily; rainwater, plummeting against the roof, and gravel made whispers and voices inaudible. All sound was drowned in the wind and rain.
There was a typhoon.
The lamps around the town were dimly lit and almost being swayed by the rain. The faint smell of gas also wafted across the air and the dirty scent of rainwater. Patriargë was already deep in the night. At this moment, where Patriargë is not lively and sunny—where the country is clad in gloom and grey, the people have no choice but to remain in their houses in stories of monsters and phantoms.
Dayie stares at the outside of the window.
