I wish I could scatter into dust and be blown to every corner of the world, watching it all without joy, sorrow, pain, or desire, becoming someone without a heart. Love weighs too heavily, feelings are too exhausting. I am tired after ninety-nine lifetimes. I don't want to go on. Enough. Truly, enough.
She was once gentle and kind, but now she is arrogant and wanton. The bewitching, languid Demon Emperor; the alluring, gentle Demon Sovereign; the rise and fall of fate, the depth and shallowness of love. One deception brought ninety-nine cycles of rebirth, each burdened with debts of love. Now the wheels of fate turn once more: two lifetimes of love, two lifetimes of lies.
Love, carried through to the point of wounding, becomes eternal. Feelings are truly an all-consuming extreme. They make me clutch my aching heart and smile sweetly at the same time. Pain from the depths of my heart and laughter coexist, each shouting just as fiercely as the other. What's the difference between lying to me because you love me and loving me so you can deceive me? In the end, both are just seemingly perfect excuses you make for yourself.
Between carrying on and giving up, which pain cuts deeper into the bone?
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