Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

Unknowingly, the fifth day of treatment ended, and tomorrow is the last day.

...

At night, Tilan came to the cell where the mysterious man was held captive. This was a place she temporarily rented from the King Camp, for keeping him in a tent would be troublesome, and cleaning would not be easy.

These days, she was busy with treatments and purchases, and today she finally had the chance to come over and talk with him.

"Could you find me a chair?" Tilan asked the guard. Despite not being a member of the King Camp, her medical skills and identity had gained recognition from most people over the past few days.

"Sure, please wait a moment." The wolf blood species guard answered respectfully, then had someone bring over a wooden chair.

Sitting in the aisle outside the iron bars, the torch inserted nearby cast its light into that damp and cold space, dividing the contours of the girl's face into light and shadow.

Inside the cell, the butterfly species man huddled in a corner. Continuous captivity over these days had gradually calmed him down or perhaps driven him into a state of hopeless despair.

His deep black hair faintly glistened with a touch of purple. On his back were tattered butterfly wings interwoven with grey and purple, now riddled with large holes as if gnawed by mice. Fortunately, these butterfly wings had no blood vessels, so despite the damage, they didn't hurt much, but they looked quite miserable.

"Could you tell me about your background?" Tilan spoke up at this point.

"You should know it was I who saved you."

After a long time, he slowly lifted his head to glance at the girl sitting outside the iron bars, showing no desire to respond and remaining silent.

Not easy to get along with, the girl thought silently but, as a songstress, she always had her ways.

The left hand resting on her knee lifted, revealing an artistic wrist slowly emerging from her sleeve, bathed in the orange light of the nearby flame. On the pale wrist was a silver bracelet strung with fine threads, and as the wrist moved slightly, the small bell hanging on it jingled softly and melodiously.

Like invisible ripples spreading, the man seated inside the cell fell into a distant dream, surrounded by a lush yet snow-covered forest, with enchanting music and singing echoing faintly through the woods.

The world turned exceptionally quiet, instilling a sense of serenity, as all the pain and overwhelming emotions gradually drifted away from him, settling like snowfall into tranquility, so vast and empty, clearing away the cluttered worries piled within his heart and mind.

The subtle peace unavoidably drew him into recollection, aligning the song with his emotions, slowly bringing back many childhood memories, some forgotten yearnings retrieved from his memory.

...

Not knowing the passage of time, the forest remained snowy white, but gradually the singing ceased, leaving everything vast and quiet.

Gentle steps tread across the snow, long boots traversing the woods, with pine needles and grass blades crunching in the snow beneath them. As this footstep approached, he involuntarily lifted his gaze, seeing the owner of the grey long boots.

Opposite him stood a girl with silver-grey hair like the sky, clad in a hooded cloak draped with falling snow, her slender waist outlined by a belt beneath it. As she pulled down the hood, it revealed a pair of flawless, clear eyes, as though countless shades of blue were layered within, making one willingly sink into them.

Through these eyes, he seemed to see a pure and sincere soul, the emotions they conveyed so genuine that they evoked no slightest feeling of blasphemy.

This fairytale-like scene gave him a profound relief, and perhaps eternally resting here would be a comforting choice.

Everything in the world felt too heavy and tormenting, making him not want to return to that anguished, mired body. If such a flawless girl were truly the Death God to greet him, he would willingly accept, drifting into eternal peace.

Unfortunately, this girl did not intend for him to slumber forever but instead extended her hands before him.

"Could you tell me your story?"

Those hands reflected on the snow, and faint traces of blood visible upon them brought a faint warmth in this cold world.

As if words longing to be spoken, he lowered the barriers around his heart and slowly began narrating his story.

The distant past, the forgotten memories, the faces that faded away.

This is a story about chasing after a reverent figure, only to fall flat on the ground, watching familiar companions slowly vanish, the story of a failed person.