A small, black shadow floated to Aiona's side, reaching a hand towards her forehead.
"Pure enough. A mind that hasn't experienced too much pain is suitable for grinding into powder as an ingredient, combined with the heart that still longs for goodness and light despite enduring torment, will be the ultimate enjoyment."
Aiona stared at the approaching dark hand, her body instinctively trembling.
She had already guessed her fate.
Aiona closed her eyes, forcing a strained smile on her face.
Of course, Aiona didn't see through life and death, she didn't want to die, and she couldn't even imagine how heartbroken her parents would be at her funeral or how angry Kerry would be.
But if she had to die, she at least hoped to look good in her final moments.
"Mr. Matchstick Man, can you at least leave my body intact?"
The Matchstick Man shrugged:
