[First person, short story, many single arrows, abnormal emotional orientation, incorrect outlook, and homophobia.
The fog lingers, and I will become the Grim Reaper. On the throne, I will enjoy the feast.
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(My father passed away at 4:45 in the morning on June 29th. I couldn't go back to see him because of the epidemic. I didn't pray for anyone's pity. The depression I thought had healed suddenly broke out. So I had to treat it again in my own way. I really didn't want to have scars anymore. It was too difficult to die.)
I don't know what I'm writing, maybe because I'm sick.
I like The Phantom Troupe very much because it's bad enough. As long as it's bad enough, I won't collapse.
Maybe it's because of the first person perspective, but the painting style is very depressing. If you don't have correct views, please don't open it, because there is a chance that you will end up like me.
Intention: There is no regret medicine in life, don't let yourself regret it.