If it's okay, if it's okay, what do you want to say to me? Let me accompany you to hell. The black wings I want to fold can never become your white wings. We have loved, hated, hurt and tortured. After all, we are no match for separation. Run away. Run as far away as possible. Escape from the net of pursuit I have spread, but in this life You are my prey and want to spread your wings and fly again, so I escaped from your hell. If we can never be happy, then let you be happy. I would rather be the injured person than watch you continue to torture yourself.