Jiho's eyes narrowed as she looked at the red mark on the child's cheek, a sharp contrast against her pale complexion.
The worn-out dress, which had been patched multiple times, had stitching that looked like it was done by an amateur, barely holding the patches together. Even from this distance, the sewing flaws were visible.
Soon, Jiho turned her head and slowly her body as she walked around the room.
It was just as she remembered: spiderwebs draped in corners, dust filling the air, making it hard to breathe. Jiho still could not believe how everything was just as she remembered.
Her gaze returned to the girl again, but this time, there was a noticeable chill in her eyes. She examined the child from head to toe, her expression indifferent, almost devoid of any emotion.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she turned away again, fixing her gaze on the door as if expecting something—or someone—to appear.
"One , two and ...'.
