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Even now, our shoulders bump against the harbor men, and with each perfunctory apology, I hide Kuro behind my back.
The albino girl. Her milky-white hair, her skin, and the color of her eyes—like clotted blood—all stand out terribly against the night. The harbor men's gazes of morbid curiosity, Kuro’s own pitiful state, their sadistic mischief… she was on the verge of being warped by it all.
Before that could happen, I roughly pulled her by the hand and fled.
After the small fire at the Sakuya, we were paraded about like some sort of blame-shifting spectacle, then led out of town toward a circus troupe on the outskirts.
But it was Kuro who nearly got lost on the way, distracted by a voluptuous beauty we’d passed.
Just as she had been at the Sakuya, her attention was caught by a woman who looked as if all her nourishment had gone straight to her breasts and behind. She’d been on the verge of being strangled by a tattoo-covered arm missing its little finger.
It was a time-consuming ordeal that she only managed to escape through sheer instinct—a blunder of my own that left me in no position to laugh at Kuro.