There is a faint smell of paint floating in the small space, with the almost inaudible sound of metal gears rubbing and then separating. The cycle repeats, and the line of sight rises swaying, gradually extending from the bustling city with the lights on to the deep black haze sky.
The dim light in the small space projected a thin silhouette on the glass. The boy with broken black hair opposite him looked away boredly. His black phoenix eyes were like the deep ocean in the dark night, calm and exuding a fatal attraction.
This is the beginning, although perhaps, the story has begun long before this
Intention: