Yu Zhong stepped closer, his boots scraping softly against the cold soul-forged floor.
He stopped just inches from her suspended form.
With two fingers, he gently lifted her until her face tilted upward, her hair falling away to reveal a pale, hollow visage.
Their eyes met.
His—calm and calculating, like a scholar peering into a specimen jar.
Hers—dull, half-lidded, flickering with a trace of defiance before fluttering shut once more.
"You look hideous," he chuckled, voice smooth and mocking. "Truly, not the noble bloodline you are expected to be."
The girl's head lolled slightly in his grasp, but she didn't speak. Didn't move.
Yu Zhong studied her in silence for a moment longer.
Then he sighed, low and almost bored and released his grip.
Her head dropped, limp, swaying slightly on its chains.
"This is why I hate dealing with fate," he of his retreating footsteps swallowed by the silence of the soul-forged tomb.
