Soon after Kurpakia restricted Chrollo's nen, he finally resumes his main goal, to take back the crimson eyes of his fallen brethren, yet his mission comes to a halt when something unexpected happens, something that not even his scariest nightmares...
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The hauntingly familiar smell of crisp spring rushed through the girl's system, she could feel the warmth of the sun against her closed eyelids as she started to come to, feeling the softness of the blades of grass caress her soft skin.
The temperature out was absolutely perfect, the warm air mixed with the soft coolness of the breeze that knew when to take right at the perfect moments, along with the sweet smell of honeysuckle and native lavender.
Once her eyes opened fully, she was able to look around and differentiate her surroundings, mentally knowing where this all goes yet physically unable to do anything about it.
The eyelids of the girl close in a blink just to open with a new sight before her.
This time was an odd one, with a blink of an eye she had skipped the running part and appeared before the village of her clan.
She could feel her knees buckle as she could already smell the drastic change of sweet, blossoming honeysuckle to the deep nauseating scent of raw fresh liquid iron.
With the quick close of another blink and once again reopening, she was brought to a newer sight.
This time, she was on her knees, skinned from when she had plummeted into the ground, the pain very evident but not enough to be focused on as the normal hot tears rush down her face in a consistent motion as if she were crying all along.
Her eyes close again, very much to the girl's dismay, she's brought to a new sight before her.
This time her throat felt like it was recently ripped apart, fresh out of a scream without her actually doing the deed.
Her hands felt wet as she unwillingly looks down at the face of a boy who couldn't be any older than the age of ten.
The black abyss of the sockets of the boy's eyes screams silent yells of pain and anguish as the angle of his propped head, which laid on her lap, causes a crimson stream to fall from the eyeless socket into a red tear that cried down the poor boy's pale face.
The girl's head snapped back up, her eyes looking at the countless of bodies before her, mangled and sullied, the black smoke that flew up in the air as the remains of fire linger about the massacred village.
Her (e/c) eyes blink and reopen, this time the same, unmoving sight from before remains yet all the bodies are now in their handcrafted graves, the aching feeling in the girl's chest prominent, almost unbearable as her heart clenches, reliving this tragedy in high definition.
For the first time in this nightmare, the girl was able to move her head, she moved it downwards to gaze at her burning, dirt-covered, blood-soaked, hands and arms.
With the quiver of her lips and a sound nothing short of despair, she begins to violently rub her arms and hands, desperately trying to get rid of the blood and the dirt, almost hurting her skin as she rubs with so much force her arms begin to go raw.
