Long silver strands that fell down on his forehead felt like long wavy ropes that one cannot hold. It fell like curling curtains that were made to conceal. Grey eyes hidden behind the shadows as he lowered his head appeared to look like deep bottomless wells. A struggle occurring beneath them. Tightening ropes, knots by knots ruthlessly tying up his heart.
Moulin's felt like he went back to the moment he had awoken. Inside the cave of ice, frost surrounding him. There were hope and helplessness. However, Laphora's words echoed in his ears. How was his revival a curse? It was never a curse for him. His family, his friends, his... lover. The things given to him in this current life was more than he could imagine. The power to strive and become fearless was not a curse. It was his blessing. His pale fingers are like metal clamps around the teacup's handle. There was a tremble in the breath he exhaled as he slowly lifted his eyes to face the blind man who thinks he knows everything.
