The ugly head soon couldn't bear to watch anymore.
That greasy version of An and the pale, pitiable girl had some indescribable things happening between them.
It hid outside the wall, listening to the girl's screams, and actually heard a complex mixture of pain and pleasure in them.
"Yike~"
It grinned, about to make a snide comment, when it faintly sensed a strange power.
That power seemed to burst forth from within the girl, carrying the suffering of her life, drifting, and scattering across the world.
The ugly head stared dumbfounded at the neighbor's house—which was gradually becoming clearer.
Though still blurry, one could make out the mixed materials of oyster shells and stone, subtly exuding an aura of "decay," "antiquity," and "detachment."
It turned its head to look at the house across the street, vaguely sensing an essence of "happiness," "hardship," and "comfort," especially the child's drawings in the corner of the wall, which added a touch of "childlike whimsy."
