Villainess’s Sweet Everyday

indescribable time. Only emptiness stands around. Is what underlies voidness like the bottom of a dead well? Meaningless, pointless something, object? No, it could be something more abstract.

Fluffy and caught in a vortex of the brain marrow, it breaks down, it reaches a deserted island, it sings life into a new life, it feels like a nagging time on its back, it just, just goes through a transformation.

Oh, my God, I kind of looked into the abyss and was swallowed up. Master Calcirasto is not coming. I wonder if sending my gaze to the entrance to the park will not echo that warm voice, and I won't see any more beautiful shaping beauty. Try kicking pebbles with your feet. Meaningless, helpless. Even the pity voices are disappearing.