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The woman before me, who was already dead, could no longer cling to the human world even if she wished to—her body had been chopped to pieces. How could she yearn to return to life, to resurrect with a pile of mangled flesh? Such an occurrence seemed unheard of through the ages.
The woman in white obviously felt a trace of resentment, the corners of her mouth curling up even higher. She waved her hand in the direction of the man, and a substance that resembled a blood mist scattered from her fingertips. I didn't know what it was. Was it blood? It didn't seem likely.
And right after the blood-like substance was scattered, a figure appeared next to the man—a ghost, not a person, to be correct. When I saw the face clearly, I realized that the ghostly figure was none other than the woman who had just been killed.
