"My sister is a vicious supporting actress, I've always known it."
I have been watching those "outsiders" soberly since I was a child, putting on clumsy strategy dramas one after another under the skin of the people I cherish. I hate them because they took away the warmth of our dependence on each other.
It wasn't until I killed my enemy that I learned the cruelest truth: the warmest sister in my memory turned out to be one of them.
When my faith collapsed, a mysterious shrine guided me. I embarked on a strange journey through the fairy tale kingdom - thinking about the strength and fragility in the castle built by cookies, and tasting the boundaries of love in the sweetness of strawberry jam.
This is no longer a revenge, but a pursuit. I want to ask the world for an answer: If the beginning is a false mission, then the blood, tears and tenderness poured into the process, are they love?
Purpose: To explore the possibility of true emotions sprouting under established procedures and utilitarian purposes. Can love transcend initial motivation and be defined by the act itself?