In the depths of the dark and damp cell, the air was as viscous as a thick soup that could not be dissolved. The stale of mold, the fishy sweetness of rust, and a certain fermenting flesh smell were layered in every breath.

The Rose of Madness—the prisoner who was given such a title, was curled up on the cold slab in a posture that did not fit the status of a prisoner at all. Briar's hands were hung high above her head by the heavy prison shackles, forcing her upper body to lean back slightly. A black bandage wrapped around her thin torso, leaving the rest exposed in the air. Her lower abdomen was slightly sunken from a long period of time without eating, but the shell didn't seem to care.

The small head was slightly deflected, and those magnificent and abnormal eyes—the sclera was a bewitching blood red, and the iris and pupils were pure white of nothing—of course, I couldn't see anything, but my sense of smell, comparable to that of a hound, was unconsciously exploring every fluctuation in the air. Nothing. Only its own taste, the smell of stone, the smell of rust.

The nose of this body suddenly fluttered rapidly.

The familiar, disgusting smell of mold and old blood was the timeless tone of the space. Nothing else. There was no fresh, living breath mixed in. The cell, except for Belair herself, was empty.

The humming continued.

(Ah...... That's it again. ）

Briar had no idea of "loneliness". I don't know why the guards occasionally stood outside the prison door, let alone why they always left quickly. But the body instinctively knew - to make a sound, to make itself feel less empty.

Laughter rang out.

"Hehe...... Hehe!" A crisp and crazy laugh overflowed from the corners of his cracked mouth, revealing a mouth full of fine, sharp shark teeth. The ruby at the top of the shackles shimmered, suppressing the restlessness that was about to erupt, keeping the shell's mind in a certain chaotic clarity.

No one responded. Only Berea's own voice echoed in the cell.

That doesn't matter.

As he spoke, Berea's fingers waved wildly in the air, as if he were conducting an invisible band. It was a naughty joke—to whom? To himself. To this empty space.

The small head was crooked, and a bright and sick smile bloomed on his pale face, and he took a deep breath - all he inhaled was his own taste.

"My smell...... Smell it well!" There was an intoxicated look on his face, like tasting a peerless wine, "salty, sour...... It's a little ...... How do you say it...... It seems a little sweet?" When the word "sweet" was spit out, the barbed tongue unconsciously licked its fangs.

The body tries to make itself more "comfortable". Supporting the body with shoulders and knees, moving the hips in an extremely twisted position - this action causes the bandaged limb to rub against the slate.

"Hey—" Belair spoke into the void, her voice full of anticipation, although she knew there would be no response, "They all call me Berea. What about you?"

The fingers stopped waving, slightly open, as if waiting for a response—waiting for a response that would not come.

"You...... Will you stay here longer? We ...... Can we be friends?" The tone suddenly became a little shy, and an imperceptible pink appeared on his pale cheeks, "I'm so bored——! In addition to smelling myself every day, I smell the smell of stones and walls...... It's almost moldy!"

The body shook, causing the prisoners to make a "ding-clang" sound.

"Friend" - this word is not constrained by any social common sense in Briar's chaotic mind. I don't know what to do and what not to do between friends; I don't know which behaviors are taboo and which are allowed. I only know that those "friends" before finally left, and before leaving, those people looked at this body with some kind of incomprehensible look in their eyes.

(Do they like to hear me sing?) ）

The small head tilted, thinking innocently about the question. Berea didn't understand why anyone would be interested in someone else. But the body instinctively realized that if one day, someone came and that person wanted to listen, it might be a good idea to "make friends" with their voice.

Belair began to hum. It was not in tune, just a simple syllable repetition, like the sound of the wind blowing through the cracks of the stones, and like fragments of nursery rhymes coming from afar.

Next. Twice. Three down.

"Hehe—this sound is fun!" There was real laughter that day.

Berea raised her head, facing the empty prison door, her mouth wide open, as if showing the melody she had just hummed.

"Look—" The real voice sounded that day, and Berea pointed to her throat and said to Nothingness, "It's shaking! It's fun!"

Then the husk did something even more unexpected - even though no one was watching.

Belair began to speak into the air, her voice rising and falling, as if she was playing two people.

"Hello, what's your name?" "My name is Berea! What about you?" "My name is ...... Hmm...... What is your name?" "Just call me a friend!" "Okay, okay, hello friends!"

The small head was tilted, the invisible eyes were "looking" in the direction of the empty prison door, and a bright smile bloomed on the pale face—innocent as a child, but so eerie that it made people shudder, even though no one saw it.

And Berea - Berea is talking to the "friend" she plays, gesturing with her fingers in the air, as if depicting an invisible human figure.

"Come on-" The voice that was so sweet that it dripped with honey was softly tempting, facing the air that would not respond, "Friend-"

There was no response. Only Berea's own voice echoed through the cell, then absorbed by the damp stone walls.

But it doesn't matter.

Berea continued to talk to herself. She began to draw circles on the slate with her fingernails - one, two, three circles, the faster she drew, the harder she drew, the more she made a rustling sound.

"Hehe! Amazing!"

Belair smiled proudly, not knowing how striking her appearance was at the moment.

The air was filled with a damp smell, all of which were the characteristic musty smell of the cell.

And Berea -

Berea is just a child who craves a playmate.

A child who does not know how lonely he is.

A child who speaks to nothingness and thinks he is just chatting with a friend.

A body that perfectly coexists between innocence and weirdness, ignorance and agility, cuteness and horror.

"Friend—"

The voice sounded again, with a coquettish tail, to the air that would not respond.

"You haven't told me your name yet!"

The small head was tilted, and those invisible eyes were "looking" at nothingness, and the nose twitched slightly, as if to confirm something—to confirm that there was nothing there.

"And—"

The corners of Briar's mouth parted, revealing that bright and dangerous smile.

"Why don't you come?"

tilted his head, and then - the hands stretched out in the direction of nothingness, palms facing up, and ten fingers slightly open, as if inviting someone to hold it.

Although there was no one there.

Although from beginning to end, it was only Belair herself.

Berea - still holding her head high, singing out of tune, in an empty cell, waiting for a response that will not come