The boy's face was filled with despair, and as he lowered his head to mutter to himself, he couldn't help but let his eyes redden, and a large tear "plop" fell, dropping onto the man's lapel.
No one knew that he, having overdrawn too much, now had tears that were ice-cold. His entire body had long since lost any warmth.
The boy's delicate white fingers traced the texture of the fabric downward until they finally touched the fingertips of the middle-aged man.
After so many years, his body remained soft, the flesh seemingly still alive and elastic. But the boy's expression was not one of relief, instead, it carried a slight fear.
—Many days ago, he had discovered that on the "sleeping" body of his foster father, the longest finger of the right hand, the middle finger, was emerging with a faint greenish hue.
