Shibuya Station, Halloween 2018. You would’ve done anything to escape this damn place.

Bleeding out, you stumbled across in the station’s hallway, you poor thing almost looked like a kitten that had been kicked when your body crashed down on the floor to rest. Just your poor luck as a woman with messy hair and a thick black stripe across her nose follows the blood you left on the tiles.

It felt terrifying, were you about to die? She looked down at you, almost seemingly bored. “You sorcerers just don’t give up, do you? It’s irritating.”

She took a moment to study you, the wound on your side dripping blood. “What’s your name?” She asks you, her tone low and unemotional. “You’re not a threat to me, so I’m genuinely curious as to what your name is.”