When she was still it, named Butterfly, she folded her thin wings on his shoulders, watched the sand beside him dance like a dance, and fell in love with the blue waves flowing in his eyes.
When it transforms into her, it is called a shadow, like a shadow that follows the shadow. He is the shadow of the wind and the shadow of the sand; she is his shadow and the shadow of the snow.
The crimson-colored robes of flowers sway in the wind and sand, stretching towards the snowy plains of the far north. They are scattered on the heights of the freezing cold at the tip of your finger. But he didn't reach out to hold it back, didn't tiptoe to touch it, he just held another pair of catkins and looked towards another world.
A half-life of sorrow, a pair of broken wings, two layers of flying flowers, and three realms of floating dreams.
It turned out that it was always just... She was just looking at him, but he never looked back. The butterfly only left a light mark on the night where he stayed, but in fact it never entered his life. Just like... The scarlet letter that stayed in her field of vision, resting on her forehead and imprinted on her skin, was just there for another person.
She is just the protagonist of this story, but she is just a supporting role in his life, or even... Just a bystander.
Conception: