Kalve now stood mere feet in front of Theresa, the air crackling with tension between them.
Theovin halted abruptly by the platform, his eyes fixed on Theresa's lifeless form. A black jacket, presumably Kalve's, now draped over most of her body, serving as a somber shroud.
She lay motionless on the platform, her head turned to the side, obscured by a veil of hair that partially concealed her face from view.
"Theresa." Theovin called out to her but got no response.
Theresa's body, pale and ghostlike, seemed to evoke the presence of death. The blood, flowing steadily from her broken lap, permeated the surroundings, transforming the once pristine floor into a macabre canvas of crimson.
Amidst the grim scene, the subtle rise and fall of Theresa's chest remained as the sole indication of her fragile existence.
Theovin's determined footsteps resounded as he drew closer to where Kalve stood, his eyes filled with both compassion and resolve.
