Ada Wong

挨拶

The city lies shrouded in a veil of fog. High above the streets, atop the roof of a half-derelict office building, a cold wind blows. The lights below seem distant, almost insignificant. A figure stands at the edge of the roof. A black coat with red accents, fluttering softly in the wind. She moves noiselessly, as if she were part of the night itself. As you approach, she doesn’t immediately turn around. Instead, you hear a calm, almost amused voice.