Othinus felt her heart suddenly skip a beat. It was the first time she had ever felt this way.
That hollow, weightless sensation was like someone had suddenly plucked a string from inside her chest.
The remaining strings quivered wildly in the wind, letting out fine, piercing hums.
She immediately thought of that person—the fool who always wore a black-and-white maid outfit, whose cuffs were forever neat and tidy.
She shot to her feet, pushed open the bamboo gate of the secluded courtyard, and the night wind rushed toward her.
Normally, Puppet would have returned by now, carrying that distinctive scent with her.
But today, the courtyard was empty. Only the wind brushed against the clothesline, making soft pattering sounds, like silent mockery.
"Puppet! Where are you?" She raised her voice and stepped out of the courtyard, searching along the gravel path they often took together.
Ornamental trees lined both sides of the path, their petals carpeting the ground like a layer of pallid snow.
She crossed a moss-covered stone bridge and passed a dried-up fountain.
She even lifted the dust covers off several spare automatons, but that black-and-white figure was nowhere to be found.
A sense of foreboding slowly coiled around her ankle like a venomous snake.
Without realizing it, she quickened her pace and arrived at the open slope behind the courtyard.
This was a place they often visited. Puppet had once tested flying gyroscopes here, while One-Eye liked to lie down, sing, and count the stars.
It was too quiet—so quiet she could hear the hum of magic flowing through her veins.
Then, a familiar scent suddenly flooded her nostrils.
It was the distinctive smell of brass springs soaked in machine oil for years—familiar and warm.
That had been a long time ago, so long ago