"What is this?"
Moulin's voice was hoarse. Like a parched man dying to escape a scorching desert, craving for even a drop of water. It sounded as if cracked, broken. A feeling of unease sits within his words, and he continued to stare at the image on the water, his own reflection. It felt foreign. Although he faced the feeling of familiarity, he was uncomfortable.
This is me?...
What happened?
At last, the youth pulled his gaze away and lifted his head. His eyes fell upon the dreariness of his surroundings. It felt as though he was a lost child facing the cold emptiness of the world. The skies weren't bright like he used to remember—the sun, hidden behind the thick clouds of grey. A blanket of pallid white stretched outwards, layering the ground ominously. But what caught his eyes were the towering trees, dark and bare. Their branches appeared like stretching limbs, thorny and sharp. As though a bird that flies through them would be shredded into bits.
