At the end of the dance practice, I picked up a young man covered in blood. His wet eyes were like a lost puppy: "Sister, I have nowhere to go." I took him in, bandaged him, and gave him my old T-shirt. He looked at my bruised ankles with pure and distressed eyes: "Sister, it must be hard to dance, right?" Until I returned from a performance, I fell asleep tiredly. In the haze, I felt the hot fingertips caressing my tired and stiff back. The pure boy leaned forward during the day, and black mucus silently wrapped around my limbs. "My sister is so dazzling on stage. I really want to hide her." "But then... You won't be able to dance."
