"Oh, him." The cloaked figure observed. "Meeting each other again, are we?"
Heon couldn't tear his eyes away from the corpse.
Strange, only now that he noticed the corpse and the blood trail in the shape of footsteps on the train's floor did he pick up on the coppery smell.
There was no change.
The pair of feet were still clad in worn, dirty boots. Legs covered by faded blue jeans. His shirt was supposed to be white, but dirt and soot had stained the frayed fabrics.
Another detail he couldn't look past was the precious red liquid that had become useless. Dripping slowly from the clean-cut on the corpse's left arm.
As he looked up at the face, he was again greeted by the smile. A faint upturn of his lips, pulled by the muscle on his face.
Still, he appeared as peaceful as when Heon saw the corpse.
Smiling – as if he was dreaming of a peaceful life.
A happily ever after.
But it was not the truth.
Wasn't it?
