Sunlight fell on Bologue's face, the warmth of the morning light melting the chill from his body, and he slowly opened his eyes, then sat up straight in bed.
A new day.
Bologue didn't have much expectation for the new day. He wasn't sure if it would be better or worse; perhaps a bit of both, just like yesterday.
The conversation with Aimou last night left Bologue's heart restless, as if a herd of deer had knocked him down and were trampling him with their hard hooves.
It was somewhat pleasant, at least Bologue thought so; it was beautiful and warm, though somewhat peculiar, but this sense of beauty didn't last long.
Once home, in the silence, Bologue's mind uncontrollably drifted to work, and then to the Devils' plans.
Bologue was always like this, his internal consumption of thoughts completely shattering the joy Aimou brought, and the various possibilities made Bologue suffer.
Looking at the side of his pillow, the pitch-black blade was within reach.
