Lying on her back on the bumpy, damp ground was a thin girl dressed in coarse linen clothes. Her face was green and white, and if it weren't for a few weak breaths, it would have been mistaken for a corpse that had just died.
Suddenly, the girl opened her eyes mechanically, stood upright in a strange posture, floated out of the room leisurely, glanced around, and finally walked towards the southwest corner of the small house, picked up the sickle leaning on the corner, stabbed it neatly into her heart, stirred it, and pulled it out again.
Blood spurted out, and she didn't seem to feel any pain. She threw down the sickle and returned to the room with an expressionless face. She held it back at the same angle as where she had just been lying. It was the same position as before.
Concept: What is the author like?