日本少妇被黑人xxxxx

Chapter 809: Ashes with the Wind

“You’re going to love it here, just like everyone else does,” the invisible guide assured Vanna with a buoyant tone. “Give it a few days, and you’ll be captivated by its charm!”

While Vanna half-heartedly absorbed her guide’s spirited narrative, her thoughts veered towards the peculiar. Despite the apparent absence of residents, she occasionally caught snippets of conversation, suggesting she wasn’t alone. She wondered how she was perceived by these unseen denizens. Did they view her as a blind swordsman, aimlessly wandering their streets with a weapon in hand? Was there no concern or curiosity from these invisible onlookers about her armed presence?

Her musings then shifted to her jovial guide, whose youthful voice suggested she was a young girl, invisible and intangible, making it challenging for Vanna to rely on her for navigation. Instead, Vanna had been making her way through the decrepit ruins and crumbled walls based on her own decisions, indifferent to whether her guide could keep up or even followed. Yet, the guide seemed not to mind, remaining ever-present and engaging as though this were a prearranged outing for Vanna, her “new friend.”

Pausing at an intersection, Vanna took a moment to gather her thoughts, pondering her place in this unseen city and her relationship with her invisible guide.

Just as she grappled with these questions, a sudden wave of dizziness overcame her, more intense than before, leaving her mind momentarily blank, as if a crucial memory had slipped away.

Looking around at the desolate ruins with confusion, Vanna noticed that the earlier sense of something being amiss had now inexplicably faded away.

“Would you like some fruit?” A new voice, gentle and reminiscent of an elderly woman, broke the silence, offering refreshment as if from a roadside vendor. “They’re fresh from this morning, perfect for quenching your thirst after a long journey, aren’t they?”

Turning towards the source of the voice, Vanna saw nothing but a pile of wood and stones, partly concealed by the desert’s encroaching sands, and a fleeting shadow among the ruins, gesturing as if presenting goods for sale. A gust of wind blew, sweeping sand from the shadow’s hand, revealing nothing but an empty plank in front of it.

In the blink of an eye, the shadow vanished, leaving Vanna to contemplate the eerie and enigmatic nature of the deserted city.

Standing isolated at the crossroads, Vanna was engulfed in the eerie silence, the only sound being the hollow whispering of the wind. It dawned on her that the voice of her “invisible companion” had ceased, leaving her in a prolonged silence.

Turning towards where she last felt the presence of her unseen guide, Vanna tentatively called out, “Are you still there?”

But no reply came.

The wind picked up slightly, dislodging a few grains of sand from a crumbling wall nearby. As they fell, they seemed to carry a faint yet distinct sound with them – a soft tinkling, reminiscent of a distant bell: ding, ding-ding…

With a fluid motion, Vanna shifted her great sword to her left hand and with her right, she drew a familiar symbol across her chest. The meaning of the symbol eluded her, but her body remembered the gesture as if it were a deeply ingrained habit, perhaps some sort of benediction.

With renewed caution, she gripped her sword firmly and ventured further into the heart of the city.

As she roamed the desolate ruins, it became clear that the city’s once sprawling and intricate streets were now endless vistas of yellow sand. The remains of buildings and pathways, although shattered and buried, hinted at their former splendor.

A thought struck Vanna – could this truly have been the world’s most vibrant and thriving metropolis? She pondered the countless lives that must have filled this vast city, the endless caravans bringing goods and stories from distant lands.

Yet, it now lay forsaken.

What had led to such a bustling city being deserted? When had it happened? And why, after all, had she come here?

Continuing her journey, Vanna’s train of thought was abruptly interrupted as she approached a particular building. The wind carried strange noises and, with it, a piece of paper swirling through the air, catching her attention with its barely visible writing.

Intrigued by the notion of paper surviving the relentless sandstorms, Vanna acted instinctively, catching the flying scrap. Upon inspection, she realized it was a fragment of a newspaper. The top half, though tattered, proudly displayed the newspaper’s name, while the bottom half bore text that had been worn away by time. Amidst the fading words, Vanna discerned a sentence that remained legible:

“…A great fire broke out in Pland, spreading from the upper to the lower district, damaging many factories and blocks, with casualties among the residents…”

Staring at the aged text, Vanna was enveloped in confusion. After a moment of contemplation, she finally articulated her bewilderment:

“What is Pland?”

No sooner had she spoken than the piece of newspaper in her grasp began to disintegrate, turning into yellow sand and slipping through her fingers, carried away by the wind.

Vanna paused, taking a moment to shake the last remnants of sand from her hand before she continued on her way.

Her journey through the ruins extended for what seemed like an eternity until she abruptly came to a halt before a peculiar structure. Amidst the swirling dust, the building appeared almost out of nowhere, its form rising awkwardly yet distinctly from the surrounding debris and fallen structures. It stood there, an anomaly among ruins, resembling a silent behemoth that had been quietly observing Vanna’s approach.

The structure was a modest-sized chapel, characterized by several spires that, while not grandiose, lent it an air of solemn dignity.

It was clear that the chapel had been abandoned; its exterior walls were discolored and cracked, its windows broken and scattered, and its roof tiles missing, all signs of long-term neglect. However, in stark contrast to the completely collapsed buildings that were engulfed by the encroaching sand, this chapel retained its basic structure. But what truly captured Vanna’s attention was the small flowerbed situated at the chapel’s entrance.

This flowerbed, though dilapidated and home only to dead plants, was remarkably free of sand, a curious sight in a land where the yellow desert sands seemed to invade every nook and cranny. It was as though someone, somewhere, was still tending to this broken garden and its desiccated flora.

Vanna stood before the flowerbed, her gaze lifting from the withered plants to the small, forlorn chapel. After a moment’s contemplation, she stepped inside.

Crossing the threshold, she experienced a sudden shift in atmosphere; the pervasive, scorching heat of the desert was abruptly replaced by a cooler, more isolated environment. Then, almost immediately, she was greeted by a series of bright lights.

Despite its outwardly abandoned appearance, the interior of the chapel was surprisingly well-kept. The doors and windows remained intact, and the main hall was illuminated by bright, welcoming lights. Empty wooden pews were lined up in neat rows, leading to a pulpit that was softly lit from above, giving the chapel an air of sanctity and peace.

A wave of vague familiarity washed over Vanna. It was as if she had encountered this place before, either in person or through the words of another, yet she could not pinpoint the memory. Her life before entering this vast, endless desert seemed like a distant dream, details blurred and unreachable.

Clutching her great sword, Vanna walked down the central aisle, surveying her surroundings with a mix of wariness and wonder. Eventually, she decided to take a moment to rest, choosing a bench near the front.

As she sat down, the ancient wood creaked under her weight, mirroring the stiffness and fatigue she felt in her own body. She sighed deeply, a tangible expression of her weariness.

Then, in the midst of the chapel’s silence, a soft, almost imperceptible sound caught her attention. It was the sound of breathing.

Someone was sitting beside her.

Vanna turned her head sharply towards the source of the sound.

There, right beside her, was a young nun clad in a somber black habit, her age mirroring Vanna’s. She sat in quiet contemplation, her head bowed in what appeared to be deep, devout prayer.

A real, tangible person!

The realization struck Vanna with the force of a revelation. It had been so long since she last encountered another living soul that the memory of human company had almost faded into the realm of myth. Her journey had felt eternal, a solitary trek through landscapes dominated by sand and shadow, accompanied only by elusive sounds and the ghost of her invisible guide. She had almost resigned herself to the belief that this desolate world was her sole domain, and she, its lone wanderer. But now, the sight of another human being sparked a flurry of emotions within her: excitement, confusion, and an inexplicable sense of recognition.

Vanna was on the verge of speaking, her mind racing with questions and a yearning for connection, “You are…”

“You’ve stayed here too long, sister,” the young nun interrupted, her voice serene yet carrying an undercurrent of solemnity. She raised her head, her gaze meeting Vanna’s with a calm intensity. “Ashes, it’s easy to be assimilated by the ashes.”