Flowers are not flowers, mist is not mist, midnight comes and dawn comes and goes like a spring dream, how long? Going like a cloud in the morning, nowhere to be found.
This poem brings me to your time, where I meet you but hate each other.
Confrontations again and again, torture again and again.
But! ! I'm tired of playing the role of the gentle and jade-like beauties of ancient times. After all, I am a rotten otaku in modern times. Since you dare not let me enter your heart, I have no choice but to take tough measures to break through. . . . . . So the meeting with the Queen began with a mixture of sadness and joy.
Sprinkle flowers~~~