The moon glowed peacefully in the nightly sky. Myriad stars glistened and blazed across space, the vast cosmos.
Nature's beauty radiated eternity–the soft clouds, tranquil winds, and silent beats.
Then man's structures, those houses etched onto earth. Metal constructs accompanied the homes, running their internal processes.
Life's cycles, a grace to behold, reflected in the eyes of a weary watcher.
Her back and posture were slouched, weakened by the troubles of life.
"If only our hearts were as bright as stars. As soft as clouds." Amilia's face shone beneath the moonlight. "All we have are stones in our chest, darker than coal."
She chuckled, empty. Her gaze locked upon the sky as she mouthed.
"We are pitiful."
Amilia eyed an object laying on her palms, the blade of a kusarigama, stained with dried blood.
Her associates' faces emerged from a building's shade, masked–weapons glistening like polished ice.
…
