The young lady held a flower and smiled, like a wisp of delicate mist. The skirt of her white dress traced a graceful arc in the air as she fell from the bridge.
Drip. Drip. The dagger dripped blood onto Virginia Frost's palm. Blood was warm, carrying a pungent odor along with a faint, solemn fragrance of sandalwood.
"Ah..." Virginia Frost screamed, dropping the dagger, and rushed to the edge of the bridge to grab hold of Aubree Groove.
But someone beat her to it, stretching out his hand with a 'whoosh', as if a knife was lightly slicing the air.
"No..." The young man only managed to grab a fragment of the skirt. As it tore off, he watched helplessly as the young lady fell. The river waiting behind was like a wild beast's enormous mouth, ready to swallow her whole.
In her descent, the girl's features became gradually obscured, but she must have been smiling.
There was no resentment or hatred.
