The tissue in her hand quickly softened after absorbing water, then became tattered from wiping the fabric. Like her thoughts at that moment, she crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the trash can.
As luck would have it, before she had figured out how to face this, the bedroom door where Hatsune Misumi was staying made a faint sound.
The doorknob turned, and the hinges creaked softly.
Hatsune Misumi squeezed out through the gap in the door.
Her wrinkled clothes clung to her body, her collar was slightly crooked, exposing one collarbone and the curve of pale skin beneath it. Her golden hair was a mess, with several strands stuck to her cheeks. She looked like a delicate, sickly, heartbreakingly lovely girl.
Hatsune Misumi supported herself against the doorframe with one hand and rubbed her temple with the other. Head lowered, she staggered outside, muttering softly, "So thirsty..."
Then, her peripheral vision crossed the living room, precisely skipping over Mutsumi on the sofa and landing on Shoko, who was wiping her skirt with a tissue nearby.
Her movements instantly froze. Her eyes widened, her pupils contracting violently, and even her breathing stopped for several seconds.
The fragmented, chaotic memories reeking of alcohol all came flooding back the moment she saw Shoko's face, darker than coal.
She clearly recalled how, several hours earlier, she had grabbed "Shoko's" clothes, how excitedly she had pinned "Shoko" beneath her on the sofa, how she had called Shoko's name in delight and shouted, "I want to give birth to you, so we can be together forever!"
Hatsune's face visibly turned pale.
"Sho... Shoko..." Hatsune's voice was hoarse, as though she had not drunk water for three days and nights and had forcibly squeezed the words out of her throat.
Shoko said nothing.