I bid farewell to the Twin Sisters of the Shadow City, the most impoverished household there, along with my ghost maid—then set off on a purposeless stroll.
Anwina held a large bunch of white flowers in her hands—white roses, white lilies, with a few white camellias dotting the bouquet. Her pale face, set off against the equally pale flowers, carried an almost eerie beauty. From the side, she looked like an ancient oil painting hanging in a medieval castle, sharing one-third eeriness, one-third otherworldly charm, and four-thirds beauty. She clutched the bouquet to her chest, floating several centimeters off the ground, whimsically following beside me. Her mood seemed exceptionally buoyant; I even heard her humming a cheerful tune. After listening closely for quite a while, I finally determined it was an accelerated version of the Requiem.
Me: "..." Strolling down the street with an odd ghost by my side, this feeling is truly peculiar.
