Compared to Purple Summers, who was alone and forlorn on the river's surface, a blindly advancing ferry drew even more attention.
Cherry, like a helpless child, sat on the boat hugging her knees, wailing nonstop.
Alexander Summers's men intercepted the boat.
They came prepared, each holding a magical artifact, surrounding Cherry in a tight circle, yet remaining warily distant.
——All their methods could only trap her, but they couldn't kill this ghost born of fate.
Cherry was oblivious to the encroaching danger around her. She just kept crying out Nathaniel Summers's name, over and over again, her eyes bloodshot and her voice hoarse from weeping.
Her cries echoed across the river, met with no response.
No one knew who stepped forward with a knife.
While crying, Cherry kept backing away.
She backed against the cabin's wall panel, with nowhere to retreat, as the bronze dagger loomed before her, Cherry desperately shook her head in tears.
