"The full moon slightly chipped..." The fireworks traced a trajectory in the dark night sky, and then dispersed, dropping colorful lights like shooting stars.
"Meteor, also looking for the lost reality, ah!" The last note of the aria rose slightly, with some ridiculous sarcasm in the loss, an unsearchable pause, meteor, or fireworks?
The ink on the parchment gradually became old and dry, and only the image of the wheel of time seemed to be spinning endlessly.
Who is wrong?
You are wrong.
Why?
You have done wonders.
Ridiculous.
But it is the truth.
This is a story, the ancient story of the Children of the Rose
——No, this is a memory, a painful memory that is raw and dry.
——Or, this is an aria of ridicule,
son of rose,
once,
But a monster...
So the story of the Rose Daughter,
And the taunting that will accompany this aria,
Until,
When?
Eternal curse
Grudge between mother and son
Love and hate
Maybe no one is wrong,
Just
Too persistent
...