Specter had come back to life.
The Specter of old had been dead. Only now did Pramanix understand those words. The awakened Specter was polite in manner and gentle in speech, carrying herself with aristocratic reserve. She was completely different from the person Pramanix had seen before.
"I'm going to change."
Specter rose to her feet and entered the changing room without waiting for the doctor's approval.
She changed into a snow-white cloak. Her formerly disheveled white hair had become a pure silver-white, so white it seemed devoid of any shade at all. Her pupils were a brilliant blood-red, lending her a certain fragile beauty.
Of course, anyone who truly believed Specter was fragile would probably die horribly.
"Do I look beautiful?"
Specter elegantly brushed aside the hair over her forehead, seeming more like a true noble blood demon than Warfarin herself.
"I'm still not used to it."
Pramanix spoke frankly.
She felt that Specter was acting somewhat soft, but if she took a look inside the changing room, that stereotype would be thoroughly shattered. The nun's habit had been torn to pieces by brute force. Specter had no blade, yet the scattered black garments were so miserably shredded that they looked as though they had been gnawed apart by a wild beast.
She had been awake for five hours already.
Pramanix had notified Doctor Kal'tsit, the supervising physician, and the archive personnel were on their way. Specter still sat quietly where she was, legs crossed and slightly curled inward, toes touching the ground.
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you take up a weapon yet."
"That's all right. My current condition isn't suitable for wielding a weapon anyway. Have you contacted Skadi?"
"She is currently away on an operation."
"Where is she?"
"Somewhere very far away from you, Miss