He leaned his back against the cold and pale wall, holding a dagger in his hand that could easily cut a person's throat. He lifted up the skirt of his left leg with his left hand, revealing the cloud-like bleached skin of his thigh. The blade slid down a little, and the pain of the skin being torn, the meridians, and the piercing being pierced gradually spread to the bottom of his heart and the ends of his mind. Pain? It does hurt, but the more painful it is, the better, because only the more painful it is, the pain in the heart can resonate, and the hatred can be more deeply remembered in the heart. The blood overflows the skin, washing and dyeing the blade red like running water. One knife, not deep enough, too shallow, two knife, still too shallow, not deep enough, three knife, moderate, because the pain is too deep, my heart has been paralyzed, like a robot, stuffing a piece of gold-threaded sheepskin into the bloody flesh...
Pain? She couldn't feel anything anymore, it was really painful. That year, that month, that day was her third birthday... (Haha, everyone, take a look, it's a strong female article)