On the moonlit night of the seventh year, I was separated from the world. Born out of the cocoon, we cross the autumn again, meet in the golden autumn, look back and miss our old friends, and explore the foggy old cases. When the wind blows, compose a wordless poem.
In Southern Autumn, the catkins blow up due to the wind, but only their rustle persists.
Use one life to see through the real you.
CP only, BE reminder, background is empty!
This is the first book to test the waters, read as you like and speak with caution!
Happy reading! ! !
Intention: Intention to be added
