Afterword (1)

In a small outlying village in Greece, a quiet place with more sheep than people and more grass than roads, a blond girl was painting with the lake as her backdrop.

“……Hmm.”

Swish, swish.

The moving brush laid paint onto the canvas. The sunset was painted orange, and the clouds were swept away in white. The green mountains were rendered with rough brushstrokes, and the blue lake was finished with soft dabs, as if she were stippling it in.

And over that blue lake, she depicted the floating corpses as black dots. With those painstaking, precise touches complete, she smiled in satisfaction and lifted the canvas with both hands.

Just then.

“Your painting is still as good as ever, Irene.”

“……!”

The girl whipped her head around at the sudden voice. Her gaze was rather sharp, but the moment she recognized the owner, it relaxed back into languid ease. The girl called Irene let her shoulders sag and hugged the canvas tightly.

“Walter.”...