Is the falling of leaves the pursuit of the wind or the unwillingness of the tree to hold back?
Meteors streak across, is it the permission of the sky, or is it its willfulness?
A moth fluttering into a flame, will it be deceived by a spark, or will it lead to its own destruction?
Why am I alive?
What is the reason for living?
Even if you know it, you can't change anything.
So, let me indulge myself!
(Note: The heroine is a universal type. The plot may be slightly changed. If you don't like it, don't join, and the update will be very slow! However, you will never give up, and crawl to the end step by step like a snail)