By the time my hair reached my waist, I was already facing each other with swords and swords. In my dream, I wore the same robe as my wife, but outside of my dream, I looked at him coldly.
Your hair has grown to your waist, but spring is still early, and you have no chance of continuing in the next life, and your infatuation will never go away.
(I just wrote it casually. The story themes are quite cliche. I mainly want to practice my writing. I don't want to hold back and don't spray nonsense.)
Intention: Fate is very important