She had no answer. She just didn't want to have it inside of her anymore. She didn't want to have infected torture scars lining her torso and arms, didn't want to live in a world where magicians were treated like demons. She wanted to…maybe find a grassy hill somewhere, by a river…and lie down and watch the clouds go by, until she floated away and never had to worry about anything ever again…
The tears welling in her eyes finally overflowed. Abrial sank to the ground as they streamed from her eyes, hugging her own shoulders and trembling in a sea of bodies.
As she cried for the thousandth time since Diyuu prison, soft white flakes of snow began to flutter down from the pure white clouds above, resting on dead bodies and dissolving into pools of blood. Some of them daintily landed on Abrial's pale nose and ink-black hair, lining her shivering eyelashes. Crouching there and silently weeping, this heartless "demon" looked pitiful indeed — miserable and tragic, and utterly alone.
