Vermilion doors and windows, turquoise wall tiles, eyes drowned in the torrent of color.
The gray cloister was spinning, and the cicadas outside the window were urgently chirping. I meander up to see the starlight.
The fireworks are gorgeous, and your outstretched hand is full of tempting light. Is the panic on the face announcing the frustration of our relationship?
That summer, Yayoi was nine years old and died in this castle.
The corpses lying on the ground were in pieces, and their dilapidated faces were like damaged flowers.
Can it be so beautiful to be dead?
Deep purple trees are lush, it's a spooky forest, and the sun goes from west to east.
Standing under the blue light, Yayoi asked me, rubbing my flaxen hair.
Cover your eyes, can you still know who I am?
We looked at each other bored, it seemed that only the other's breath could be called oxygen.
Lovers' hearts are steel hearts, time can rust, and magnetism will attract each other.
But Yayoi died, lying in front of me, holding a pure lily in his hand.
The red lily leaves black blood.
View more about Liar Liar reviews
