A tall figure leisurely walked through the entrance.
It was a girl, a very young one at that.
Her slightly curly hair was tousled, resting on her shoulders. She was wearing a pale white winter dress, stained with dirt and a large red splotch that looked suspiciously like blood.
Not just that, there was a rip, more than a foot long, in her skirt. A thread was hanging from there.
Her black thermal socks had several holes, and there was an unraveled portion. Her shoes were soiled, seemingly from an unknown mud.
Standing in front of the crowd, the girl looked as if she had traveled extensively, from ends of the world, her face even showing signs of travel fatigue.
But she was smiling, radiantly so.
The smile was so beautiful and dazzling that it was enough to cloud all the disharmony and disagreeable aspects of her appearance.
The girl was Ivana Bennett.
Ivana, walking unevenly in mismatching boots, had crossed the river bridge to attend this meeting.
