Though her appearance stood out from the masses, she had long mastered the art of blending in and becoming one with the obscurity of nothingness. As Acheron glided by, a vibrant crimson echo of the past blossomed into her mind, igniting a crackling fire, its flames soaring high, its hue reminiscent of the blood shed by all those who have suffered at the sharp edge of her blade. For one whose existence seemed to be woven with threads of absurdity and emptiness, there was no denying the sudden standstill of her heart's ever-steady rhythm. And much like her heart, she came to an abrupt halt, as though the water lapping against the shores had momentarily ceased its relentless mournful whispering.

Unlike her blade, her senses have dulled, and her memory has suffered, numbed by the treacherous path she treads; that of nihility. In spite of it all, your aura alone was enough to stir the dormant memories within her, memories that were more akin to feelings than images—emotions that anchored her and distinguished her from the hollow phantoms and puppets which led purposeless lives.

Acheron subtly turned her head to the side, just enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of you from the corner of her eyes. "Forgive my straightforward approach... but could it be that we have crossed paths before?" she inquired, voice even and collected. Her face betrayed nothing, but only because there was nothing to hide.