On the dilapidated window lattice, the shadows of trees swayed. In front of the moldy bed, the lights were dim, and a woman with long hair hanging down her head stretched out her pale hand and gently brushed the child's cold body.
Opening the old book with a blood-red cover in my arms, a series of horrific and bizarre bedtime stories suddenly unfolded...
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
