The night was very dark, and from time to time the nightingale's chirping could be heard in the hazy atmosphere.
Then all that could be felt was deathly silence.
The man sang softly in a voice as smooth as silk and as deep as a cello:
"We are the lips of the night,
Kiss gently in your dreams.
Your blood is my song,
I admire you and slowly sing your praises. "
Beautiful but quietly, a sinister smile appeared, slowly blooming on her flower-like cheeks.
The bottomless bright red is the eyes that Jehovah painted for him and the source of his eternal sin.
Slowly move your body, use two slender and straight legs, step by step, gently step on the floor decorated with fresh blood.
The floor was bright, reflecting the intricately decorated ceiling and the frescoes on the ceiling.
The person in the painting has completely forgotten everything and is just sleeping quietly like an angel in heaven.
He stopped.
He knelt down and his long black curly hair fell to the ground.
He gently touched the person reflected on the crystal floor, ignoring his fingers that were about to burn.
His fingers are long and strong, like bright jade.
"At least I can still capture your soul." He muttered in a lost voice.
Although he could never see himself in the mirror, see his beautiful face.
Even though he lost his soul.
Regardless, his heart is still there.