Kuro wept. But he was a puppeteer before he was a father. He knew that a marionette cut from her strings becomes a heap of wood. And Madou Ai Li's strings were not silk or hair. They were the hopes of everyone she had touched.
Kuro refused. That night, the chest opened on its own. madou ai li
In the floating village of Hanyu, nestled in the crook of a mountain that wept perpetual mist, there was a legend: Madou Ai Li . The elders said the name wasn't a person, but a wound the world had forgotten to heal. Kuro wept