Contemporary Milan, Italy.
In the dazzling world of Vincitore Academy, Margherita, a half-Korean firebrand from humble beginnings, ignites a clash of wills with the P2, the city's elite quartet of dazzling and entitled boys.
Yet, privilege holds no...
The blizzard raged. In the ominous purple darkness, gales of frigid wind turned snow into blades. Desperate, Re shook Margherita's unmoving form, calling her name, to no avail.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
Frantic, he laid her down gently, removing his warm jacket and scarf to wrap them around her. The exertion of carrying her through the forest, thigh-deep in fresh precipitation, caused his body to steam and snow to melt against him, but his hands and feet were frozen.
Re's only hope was to gain entrance into the small cabin and warm Margherita up before the point of no return. He dug out the door and kicked it open.
Frenzied, he carried Margherita inside and laid her gently on the floor. After closing the door and securing it against the elements with the one chair, he cleared off the snow from Margherita, all the while talking to her. "Margherita, come back to me, you stupid idiot. Wake up, wake up!"
He blew hot air through her gloves. Like the rest of her clothing, they were frozen solid. She was paler than death. He couldn't feel a pulse but she was breathing, feebly.
He cried out in frustration and reconned the cabin: fireplace, wood pile in a corner. Time was of the essence to fight the onset of hypothermia. He had not lit a fire since survival camp a decade earlier, but the lighter and lighting fluid he found in a drawer sure helped.
The cabin was half the size of Margherita's atrociously small apartment. A thin cot lined a wall, three blankets on top of it. A cast-iron pan, an axe, several knives, and two traditional wooden cups completed the furnishing of what was likely a hunting cabin; the place were hunters came to clean their kills. Unfortunately (but unsurprisingly) no warm-up liquor had been left behind.
The fire picked up. Re filled the pan with snow and put it by the flames—close enough to melt but not enough to boil—then moved the thin mattress from the cot to the floor, right in front of the blaze.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
He was about to move Margherita, but her clothes were sopping wet—and so were his. When he'd removed his jacket, his sweater had gotten logged with snow, which had then melted as he worked. His body temperature was dropping.
