Lausanne’s Stranglethorn - Chapitre 0

Kanina’s spirit is dead.

Ce n'était pas surprenant. The sin of blasphemy, it is never light.

pourtant, it was a surprise to those who followed her with sincerity. Kanina’s spirit, who was born in the incarnation of Jeriel, the angel of vocation, who led the lost lambs.

Regardless of the turmoil in the world, Kanina’s spirit is already dead and her body is buried in the grim cemetery. It was a place where beggars in the streets were buried.

As if the name was not written on the left and right tombstones, her tombstones were also sloppy, but the uniformed ones used to throw bitter ridicule, saying it was a beggar’s grave.

pourtant, on a moonless night, there were people who secretly visited her grave.

The first to visit the tomb was the one who dared not even to shine his face in the midsummer fire. Bounded with black cloth from head to toe, he fell in front of the tomb and cried for a long time.

“I’m sorry to let you lie on the cold ground alone. I will follow you soon, so I will meet again and ask for your forgiveness.”

Snowy tears overflowed from the silver mask that covered his face. Le vieil homme, who had struck his forehead on the ground and swallowed his secret, left the cemetery violently.

“….. Stupid bitch.”

Was the world she muttered as if chewing and spitting into the ground, the woman was surprised to see him. The cemetery was unchanged after the sound of footsteps rapidly moving away.

The next one to come was a boy with a torn gray hair.

“Because you are not here, Angelica Castle is so quiet. C'est bizarre. You were the least talkative person in the fortress.”

Le garçon, sitting with buttocks on the cold ground, touched the old tombstone as if it were breaking.

“…… I want to see you.”

Le garçon, who had been walking around the graveyard for a long time, turned around just before dawn. The dawn draped over the graveyard quietly lit only the unknown footprints.

Puis, à un moment donné, the steps to find the tomb were slow. The living would each have a lot to do, so it was a boring time only for the dead who had nothing to do. Like all namesakes, Kanina’s spirit knew only to return to the dirt with the dead beggars without a name.

But as her name was gradually forgotten, a man appeared at the tomb. Cheveux noirs, black mug. The man with the fur of a beast on his shoulders was like a repeat who drove an eternal night. pourtant, only the eyes of the arrogant king, who were not black, were shining.

What will he whisper to the dead? As if looking forward to the voice of the future, even the dry leaves sank. But instead of opening his mouth, the man knelt and sat down. Et, as if I swear, my rotten me gladly touched his lips to the ground.

Depuis, countless days have passed. Someone comes to me when they can forget it, and someone never comes back, as if they completely forgot. There was no blame for not finding me again. Because the dead are silent.

It was winter that came after several seasons.

À l'aube, frost fell on the tombstone, and in the evening the ground was cold. Mais, assez curieusement, it was the rain that started to fall one day. The misty rain, which was fluttering, turned into a heavy rain when the day got dark and began to sweep away the dirt from the grave.

Par conséquent, it would not be surprising if something that was buried deep in the ground reveals its appearance. Au mieux, will there be more than a tree root that had been cut off a long time ago, or a coffin on which nameless beggars laid down? The traces dug into the rain would be covered with rain that would someday fall.

pourtant, it wasn’t the roots of trees or the corners of the rotting coffins that were exposed where the harsh rain was scratched. It was something white and high.

It started to wriggle. One wriggles, two wriggles, three wriggles, four wriggles, cinq. Five fingers wriggling like crazy finally grasped the dirt floor.

Her fingertips without a strong spot dig up the gravel like crazy. The half-lifted nails feel out, and drops of blood formed on the delicate skin that had no nails from before. As if screaming, her stiff hands were struggling in the air. The hand without this one holding it finally reached the tombstone.

Desperately outstretched hand glances over the surface of the tombstone. Her fingertips swing like evil, scratched the tombstone hard, and the last remaining nails flew away. néanmoins, the bloody hand groaned from the corner of the tombstone.

Like that one lifeline, grabbing the tombstone, it climbed up hard and hard. As a breathless diver soars above the surface, her head bounced first, followed by her body.

When you see it coming up from the tomb, it is clear that she was buried in the dirt, but she was a woman who lived in motion. Was it buried alive? Or is the dead alive?

The woman who has managed to climb up looks up at the dark sky with eyes out of focus. The moonless night. Countless raindrops hit the drooping body. Is it the sound of laugher or crying that flows through the open lips. Even though it just disappears under the loud rain.

Kanina’s spirit is dead.

This is the story that began in her grave.