The miserable rain and her tears flowed down her cheeks fiercely, flowing to the ground and mixing with his blood, which hurt her bone marrow, like a cold sword or an ice knife.
His voice was hoarse, with a hint of sadness, "Let's go!"
She smiled bitterly, and the helpless desolation loomed on her eyebrows, "You are finally willing to let me go."
The trees were green and gloomy, and the wind and rain came one after another, and the sky was dark and dark. The desolate feeling hit his face, the pain in his shoulders, the pain in his heart, the heart-wrenching pain. He suppressed his emotions and said: "Why force a heart that can't be kept."
A bolt of lightning broke through the sky, instantly brightening like daylight. The lightning drew a bloody mark between them, cutting off the thread of love as a warning.
She was the former Princess, and he was the domineering warlord. In this troubled world, where the situation was changing and the ups and downs were ups and downs, a life-and-death love story was staged that was lingering and heart-wrenching.
On the sycamore branches, sadomasochistic love is deep. It should have been forgotten, but it turned into regret.