Back at the bungalow again, facing the cracked memorial tablets on the altar.
But this time when the boy turned around, he saw the girl, who had already stepped over the threshold herself.
She stood there, facing the distant silent thick fog.
The girl placed her hands behind her back.
In the early days, when facing them, she cried, evaded them. Ultimately she found she couldn't shake them off, so in the endless torment, curses, and intimidation, she learned to shut herself off.
Actually, she's still quite scared now.
The shadows accumulated over the years aren't lumps on her hands that can be excised and then heal; rather, the "illness" has long permeated into her blood and soul.
To some extent, she can only keep reducing the negative impact as much as possible, never completely eliminate it, because her life has twisted under its influence.
