The story begins in early summer. The sound of the piano is lingering and the cicadas are chirping.
The wind, I don't know when, lingered on the time, blurring the stories of those years.
The video tape of memories was replayed again, but it was so thin that only words and images remained...
The shadow of the candle swayed in the torrential west wind, and what was swaying was a piece of candlelight, which was also the part of the night that we had been unable to part with.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
