Can you still remember those scenes yesterday? Or are they all disillusioned? It doesn't matter anymore. I can no longer see the light, and the monster in my heart has awakened... Stanislaw has invaded this body, and simply regarded many as food on the plate, and the soul began to devour the soul...
He is but a branch, a branch of his soul.
The pictures are made from other people's pictures.
This is probably a novella. It's my first attempt at a novella. Please give me some advice.
Conception: