Long ago, there was a girl who believed in fate.
Emma brewed the potion while recalling an ancient myth. Various ingredients mixed together, steam rising, followed by a pungent medicinal smell filling the workshop.
It was a process she had repeated countless times until now.
There were no mistakes. This wasn’t arrogance but certainty.
It was one of her few specialties, as she had no other advantages.
Emma finally brought the knife to her own wrist.
The artery, where the purest blood flows.
The dripping crimson liquid instantly subdued the boiling mixture. Hmm, a faint groan escaped Emma’s lips right after that.
Her fingertips and toes tingled. For a moment, her consciousness flickered, a dizzying sensation as if separating from her body.
Her fingers must have faded a bit more.
Well, it was a story that no longer mattered.
She had no lingering attachment to a body that would disappear entirely. Emma thought…