"Oh Miss Moryana, don't tell me you've given up already…"
Though a smug was there—as often it did show up—on the young boy's visage thus becoming his distinct mug at this point. He sauntered across the snow-deluged ground, creating a crunching sound as he stepped forward approaching the feeble character of that raven-haired woman lying dramatically yonder, soaking herself in her own pool of blood and finding herself embraced by the carmine-tinted snow…
"…you may now have a real human body of your own, but… if you think by lying down there resignedly – welcoming a painful death only for you to feel more human… then I… truly have overestimated you. In the end, you're nothing more than a wannabe-human old spirit who happened to outlive any human."
…perhaps that above was the reason behind his subtle disappointment? So desired was his heart to insult the woman for her etiquette of such a defeatist, and yet he couldn't; that raven-haired woman already beat him to it,
"…"
