A pair of hands slowly climbed up Xiaoxia's neck.
Those hands were as tangled and cracked as dead tree trunks, but they were also extremely heavy and hard, carrying the gloomy coldness from hell, and they were determined to pull Xiao Xia down on the sofa.
She couldn't see the owner of the hands, but she felt that the hands were brown, with a faint red thread, like scratches of blood.