If we meet again someday, how should I congratulate you?
By silence? Or with tears?
The fox demon has spent most of his life wandering around, and his fur, which has begun to turn gray, can no longer add color to his philandering. Perhaps as he got older, the fox demon gradually began to like to recall the past, the little body that once trembled in his arms, the tall back standing in front of him, and the tearing sound of the feathers on the black wings as they passed through his body. And the time that warms me to this day.