Her heart was racing fast.
Cold sweat slowly trickled down her forehead, she buried her face into the blanket, her body shivering from the chill.
She didn't know what she was afraid of, but the feeling was identical to her nightmares, that suffocating, oppressive madness, like creeping vines, spread along with her racing heart, driving her to the brink of insanity.
Some flash of memory crossed her mind, leaving Meng Xi'er stunned for a moment.
Whose memory was that?
The man's icy gaze watched her in silence, disgustingly revolting, like he was looking at trash.
...
What was going on?
She held herself, looking at her hands. There were deep scars on her wrist, one after another, covering her skin, leaving horrific marks on her delicate wrists.
When did these scars appear on her?
She dumbfoundedly asked herself, but could not answer.
When you're alone, it's inevitable to think a lot. Those marks forgotten through laughter and play, would show themselves inadvertently.
