Chapter 248: The Moth

**Thelma Zane’s POV** A snowflake drifted lazily from the sky, landing softly on the tip of Dorothy’s nose. It lingered for a moment before crystallizing into ice. She had stopped breathing. She was gone. Dorothy was dead. I held her lifeless body in my arms, my mind unable to grasp the reality before me. How could she have died? Why had it come to this? The snow fell steadily, blanketing the corpses scattered across the ground. As I stared into the blinding whiteness, I felt disoriented, as though I had lost my sense of self. Was it really Dorothy I held, or was it someone else lost in the snow? The cold wind blew relentlessly, cutting through the stillness. It was then that I noticed the souls—the whispering, restless spirits that had surrounded us—were gone. Their murmurs had faded, and their presence had dissolved into the ether. They had abandoned me. Perhaps they had grown weary of my helplessness, disappointed by my failure to act. Like fleeting shadows,