Because of the loneliness dispersed in the shape of water droplets in the cold fog, I kept the light beam at the bottom of the porcelain bottle late at night, and the delicate and distant sound of the flute stood at the mouth of the bottle for no reason, just like your vague shadow stretched by the years.
This is a story with intricate relationships between characters, and this is a very unexpected novel.
This is my first novel, so I apologize for the poor writing.