Volume 4, APPENDIX: ADVENT

—Footsteps peal through the cold, dark chamber.

Not a speck of light beams into the space, making the path a charge through dark or shadow.

But the footsteps sound without hesitation, travelling through the rancid chamber with a casual gait. With such ease that they may as well be traversing their own room.

"—"

Water drips. Insects squirm.

Mud and gravel crunches underfoot. This place inspires nothing but discomfort, but the silhouette gives not the slightest murmur of discontent.

Hordes of insects open a path as they flee the silhouette, their stronghold disturbed. Water flows over their feet, the gentle downward slope their guide as they walk on.

Eventually, the silhouette stops, their long hair flowing behind them as they look up.

As before, there is no light.

But their eyes shine with a gleam called conviction.

Dim lights dance as wind whips around the silhouette's feet.

Their long, pink hair and long-sleeved robe flutter in the breeze. At their feet, at the point from which the wind blows, a circle draws itself in the ground.

"He already gave me a name, after all. I think I'll call myself Omega."

She smiles as she treads on the grass, slipping through gaps in the trees to exit the forest.

The journey is somewhat troubling for a young girl's legs, but it's no matter. The fatigue and pain prove that her soul and body are connected. She must enjoy her long-lost life in abundance.

"Beatrice has left the Forbidden Archive, Roswaal has lost his gospel. Though considering the man who pocketed the burnt remains, and Garfiel's persistent rage, the fires are still smouldering yet. How will he face what's to come? Perhaps I'll watch over him, from the sun and in the shade."

Purposefully excluding the girl that irks her, she begins to walk.

There is a world where she's going. What never grows dull for her, abundant, endlessly sating her curiosity, a mountain of treasures for the dead Thirst for Knowledge Incarnate.

"If I'm like this, perhaps I'll understand someday."

Along her path, the girl sights a ring of flowers, and smiles.

She plucks a flower petal, sniffs its scent, pops it in her mouth.

Even beautiful flowers shall wilt. Why must the flowers wither?

Are even the beautiful memories shared between people destined to wane?

"—Ahh, why must love fade?"

Muttering, her long pink hair swaying, the girl steps forth.

Again the WITCH is unleashed on the world.