In this city, deep in this street. There is always a dilapidated funeral parlor sitting quietly, with the smell of rotten wood. And, the smell of formalin when human corpses are preserved. There are many traffic lights on the seemingly bustling streets, and cars shuttle through different streets, over and over again.
I remember he would always stand on a lighthouse behind this funeral home.
Standing with Sebastian, whom he trusted, he once asked him what he meant and how he could avoid betrayal. This was the same reason why the ten thousand-year-old pine would never fall, its evergreen leaves as sharp as thorns, and the pine that would grow crazily without a single rain.
There is no fog this night, but after a rain it feels like being drenched in cold water.
The few rising white smokes indicated the presence of the owner, but no one paid attention to it in the silent night, but behind the chimney was the cat with blood-red eyes and black body. The white cat seemed to be calling it, so it ran in the direction it wanted to go.
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