In this world, those at the bottom of the food chain are truly pitiful.
Under the power of authority, there is no room for resistance.
She ate absent-mindedly, and after finishing, Eric pushed her to the courtyard to bask in the sun.
Her skin was pale, and under the sun, it seemed even more transparent. Even the fragile veins beneath her thin skin were clearly visible; she seemed almost made of snow.
She lowered her head, lost in thought.
Eric asked her, "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking it would be better if I hadn't been born."
"Don't let your mind wander." His tone was slightly stern.
She smiled, raised her head, and gazed into the distance: "Truly. I often think this way — if I hadn't been born, it would have been better."
Not hating anyone, but merely hating her own birth, not remarkable, not outstanding, merely a substitute for others, trampled, used, betrayed.
"Why do you think this way?"
