A few days later.
Violet Foote was moved from the intensive care unit to a regular ward.
In just five days, her once long, silky black hair had lost its luster, messily scattered behind her. She curled up in a corner of the hospital bed, her left arm wrapped around her knees, her injured right arm hanging limply at her side, her eyes dull and lifeless as she stared at her feet.
Her originally rosy lips were now devoid of any color, dry and cracked, and she looked utterly haggard.
"Violet..." Charles Foote cautiously called her name, as if afraid to startle her.
"Violet... Violet..." With no response, Charles called her name once more.
After countless times, Violet finally reacted.
She slowly and stiffly lifted her head, her eyes reflected the worry-filled gaze of Charles Foote.
"Knight." She moved her lips stiffly, as if trying to speak, but could not make a sound, only forming the shape of the word.
