The stories from those days have grown mottled with the passing years and the wind and snow, gradually losing their original shape.
She said she was born to bring calamity upon the world, and would die the same way. Her body bore the curses and anguished wails of countless dead. None of the warmth or beauty in this world had anything to do with her.
When this dangerous, bewitching crimson rose finally withered, she thought that she, too, had tasted all the world's sorrow and joy.
Three romances, three farces.
In the first, she knew nothing of love and gave her heart in bewilderment. Blinded by a single leaf, she thought she had gained everything.
In the second, she used the heaviest love of her life to help someone else find wedded bliss.
In the third, she descended into darkness, her hands drenched in fresh blood. That person came from the far horizon and led her away from the bottomless abyss.
A few mournful melodies, and the world grows peacefully drunk;
The world forsakes me, but you do not leave.
The broken tune, the mournful melodies, the peaceful regret;
The world forsakes me, and you leave me too.
In the end, that loneliness never reached another's heart, nor could it bring her close to anyone. The popular tales spoke of her romantic entanglements amid the chaos of war. Snowstorms roared across heaven and earth, hurriedly concealing the secrets of this dark continent.
