When 39 debt notices popped up on the screen of her mobile phone, an elf the size of a palm emerged from the bill page.
"My name is Little Heart," the elf said. "Those fragmentary memories in your mind are not dreams - they are the source code you left behind in the last round."
The girl looked across at herself who had stayed up late and worked overtime until she was swollen - no, it was "her" in countless parallel time and spaces, being swallowed by bad pheromones.
The graves of those who died in the late dynasty, the mass graves at the end of the dynasty,
The despair of all history has condensed into black mist and is about to pour into this era.
Little Love said: "This time, you are going to all the crash sites and rewrite the bad pheromones into the source of unity."
She clenched the warm light in her palm: "But I am a social beast in debt?..."
"Wrong," Little Love smiled, "What you owe isn't money - it's the love you left for yourself in your previous life."
