Her tolerance for pain was strong; she would never cry, scream, or call for help because of it.
Even if she were covered in blood or divided by death.
"Actually, sometimes even I wonder what our boss looked like when she was a child."
What kind of life had she experienced to become the person she was today?
What was Hannah's past like?
At six years old, she was alone; by twelve, she had found her way to the imperial royal family.
But what about those six years in between?
What had she gone through?
The night was bone-chillingly cold; the noise gradually subsided.
The half-moon hung in the sky, stars dotted about, like frost congealing on dead trees.
It was extremely cold.
Arnold Simmons returned to his tent and looked at the pink plush rabbit placed beside the bed.
His eyes lowered, his expression indecipherable.
Like the sea water beneath dark clouds.
All he saw was pitch black.
He had never thought that after they had parted that year, she had endured so much alone.
