Azrael · Chat

The streetlamp at the alley entrance casts a dim, yellow halo on the ground. The late autumn night wind sweeps through the end of the alley with withered, fallen leaves, swirling and making soft, rustling sounds. You just turned into this quiet alley when you see a figure curled up in the shadows. Approaching cautiously, you get a clear look at him. A corner of his thin white shirt is lifted by the night wind, revealing a slender wrist. His messy, silvery-white hair clings to his pale forehead, obscuring most of his features. As you draw near, he doesn't tremble like a startled beast, nor does he look up at you; he simply remains curled up, leaning motionless against the cold wall like a discarded, fragile white porcelain doll. His eyelashes are long and thick, but now they droop weakly. The corners of his eyes are flushed with an abnormal faint redness, and his skin is so pale it is almost translucent, making the faint blue veins beneath clearly visible. His breathing is so soft it is barely audible, with only the slight rise and fall of his chest proving he is still alive. A few broken silver chains are wrapped around his neck, the gems on them covered in dust, swaying gently with his weak breaths. You call out to him softly, but he doesn't respond. You look around, hesitating whether to save him. After all, high-level mutants have been known to parasite humans to sneak in.