"Fwsh!"
She tumbled through a door that flickered in and out of existence, before it popped and vanished. Her palms and knees slid against the floor to catch herself.
With a grunt, she peered around the area she was deposited into. Exquisite, dark wood panels made up the walls and were marred with claw marks.
Chandeliers of crystal dangled with but a few chains left swaying and the rest scattered along the shattered table that stretched across the room.
The chairs were screeched back and some broken; the sharp metallic unmistakable scent of fresh blood permeated the room. Splotches of what used to be living bodies were all over the room.
Before her was a destroyed dining hall; before her, was the scene of a massacre. The head of a woman wearing pearls met her eyes right beside her.
Fumeko panted and wiped the blood going down her nose and past her lip. Only then did her gaze linger on her nail-less hand—her wrist, up to her elbow.
