The stench.
Murkiness.
Disgusting.
Soaked in a sea of black blood, even her hair was covered in the monster's flesh, and before her was a thick fog where you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Sonia didn't know why she was here, but she knew she had to swim forward, and advance along the monster's corpse. Not only was it safe, but she could catch up to that hateful little trumpet and settle the score between them.
...Who was that little trumpet?
But when her thoughts slightly delved deep into the sea of memory, she was overwhelmed by an avalanche-like resentment. This resentment was like glaciers in the extreme northern tundra, accumulating higher and higher with time until it could no longer bear its weight, like a mad dog unleashed, eager to use its chilling despair to destroy all springs.
