Nightfall comes, and it is no longer a dreadful thing to Moulin.
With his ankle-length hair cut short, the silver braid rested just above his tailbone. Tomorrow, he would join the
But he didn't care if he could actually see one. He was simply gazing blankly—thoughts crammed in his head like clothes popping out of a tightly closed trunk. A faint sigh escaped his lips, and he lowered his gaze. At last, he settled his attention to the city beneath the tower. The lights were like stars. Like a river's reflection of the starry sky.
"Moulin..."