I sensed that something was wrong. I had never been to this city, yet I felt as though I were being swept forward by the torrent of fate. From that moment on, I no longer felt that Bronya's side was safe.
Cup Snake's head hurt a little, but her slender fingers remained nimble.
So I chose to flee.
Cup Snake stopped writing and glanced at the streetlights along the fork in the road. She only paused for a few seconds before the lights on one path suddenly lit up, while those on the other gradually went out, leaving it completely dark.
There were two roads ahead. One was brilliantly lit, while the other was pitch-black. That unknown entity's intentions could not have been clearer.
Cup Snake spoke as she walked forward.
Without hesitation, she chose the dark road where she could not see her own hand before her face.
Did they think she would choose the light?
Cup Snake—horror novel enthusiast, folklore expert, and merciless writing machine capable of typing a hundred thousand words in one night—would never choose the light.
And when Cup Snake chose darkness, a prearranged automated program activated. Every fork had been planned out, and the endpoint was always fixed. Like predetermined fate, no matter how she struggled, she would ultimately arrive at the same ending.
The torrent of fate.
Cup Snake showed a trace of interest when she spotted a gloomy warehouse. Its door was tightly locked and equipped with all kinds of biometric systems.
This was the endpoint. As I walked here, I discovered that the road ahead had been completely boxed in. What appeared to be branching plotlines actually all pointed to the same place. Being smart enough to notice that was truly unpleasant.
She stopped before the warehouse's front entrance and carefully