silver ichor.

IV

Blade awoke with a strange sensation; something formless enclosed his heart with a faint, fathomless mystery. Your side of the bed was vacant—he assumed you'd left for a walk.

Waiting, Blade prepared you some tea per usual. He leaned over the counter, the rain rattling and the clock's chiming sounded against his ear, whilst he noted as time elapsed and your tea gradually turned cold.

Thus, he leaves to search for you, after a desperate search for a note you might have left. He strolls towards your favourite park.

A faint breeze rustles the pampas grass tips, the full moon's radiation casts ominous shadows in the street, stars litter with a subtle twinkle in the abyssal night, and not a wisp of a cloud. His shoes along the street pavement are akin to an exaggerated film soundtrack and occasionally stumbles into some puddles—you're not there and he is alone.

Blade stares idly at a phone box. He enters and dials your phone number; it beeps for some time trailed by a monotone female voice indicating that the number is not in service. Blade, incensed, thrusts your number repetitively into the machine, and it does not work nevertheless. Hence, he quits.

As he was about to renounce, the phone box rang. he hastily stirred to reply to it, presuming it was you.

However, a memorable, honey-dosed laugh sounds on the other line.

'Hello, Bladie.'

Such a strange "coincidence," to call right after he's been searching.

'Where is she?' he enquired, visualizing Kafka's smile.

'Do not worry. She is fine, at least, that's what I assume. Her contract with Destiny's Slave has been accomplished,' Kafka explained. 'I hope you did not search for her?'

He raised his head and surveyed what lay beyond the phone box, the receiver in his grip. All that flashed before him was abundant outlines of passersby to nowhere; he was stuck in prodigious motion, your remnants clear within his mind, and when he closed his eyes, your figure prolonged to roam, akin to some meandering soul...