He, who is an archfiend sent from above,
His words... there was a devil's kiss.
She, who was destined for the doomlord's belongings.
Her presence, there was a dismantling aptness to conquer his cosmos.
He, can't resist her;
She, can't reject him.
"Help!", she screamed. Helplessly arching her lips to utter a succor. No words came.
She crumbled for a moment, but she has no time for this. With a beam of hope, she tried pulling on an arid railing to support her weight to push back on the top of the corner of the rooftop.
Beating the moment of hurriedness, she successfully reached it and was finally able to alight on the floor and quickly ran on the darker side of the rooftop wherein she was able to hide from scavengers who committed nothing but murderous intent.
At that moment, she frantically thought, "Why was it happening to her? She just wanted to earn... to survive in this world. Why did it have to be... who happened to witness a scenario and a world she does not fit in?"
"Don't hesitate—if she shows up, put a bullet in her."
As these words were spoken by her perpetrators, it sent shivers down her spine. She unconsciously covered her mouth with fear, her eyes becoming watery.
Footsteps were nearing her place, playing the rhythm of her heartbeat...
Echoed heavy boots behind her, irritated voices closed in—men who wouldn't stop until they had her cornered. The night air bit cold against her skin, and the rooftop stretched endlessly beneath the dark sky.
She turned sharply, searching for another way out, but the edge of the rooftop loomed closer with every step. Panic clawed at her chest—there was nowhere left to run.
Then, out of the shadows, a hand shot forward. Strong. Unyielding.
He caught her by the waist, pulling her sharply into the darkened corner between towering walls and the rooftop ledge. Her back collided with his chest, the sudden closeness stealing what little breath she had left. His grip was firm, possessive, almost dangerous—but it kept her from stepping into the open where her pursuers would see.
She froze, trembling, her lips parted but silent, her eyes wide as she tried to turn toward him.
"Don't move," he murmured, his voice low, a command more than a plea. She just nodded silently as if she was just a commoner who had to kneel down before their king.
Her silence was deafening, but he felt it—the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat, the way her fingers curled slightly against his coat as if torn between fear and desperate trust.
For a man who could never recognize faces, it was her trembling presence, her angelic features, her petite visage, her unwavering stature of her principles, and her quiet defiance in that moment of terror that carved itself into his memory for the first time. Long after the footsteps faded and the danger passed, he knew she was someone he would not forget.
Her worries suddenly disappear. She immediately stood up and used a hand gesture to say "thank you."
However,
in the heat of a moment.
"Caught you, you thought you could outrun them?
No one escapes—not even you, Kitten."
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