We live in this world, we adapt to this world, we change this world so that we can live more comfortably. But how can we not be changed and shaped by the world. Even our subconscious minds are deeply branded with worldly ideas.

Uproar observed this uninvited guest through the faint moon pass outside.

She lay on the ground, her long, burgundy hair spread out.

He didn't know if the color was the result of hair dye or blood, but he was sure that he needed to change the carpet.

The lights were turned on, and all his senses seemed to sharpen with the arrival of the light. The smell of blood filled the room, which made the uproar unaware. "How much blood did this woman bleed!"

He came to her side, gently turned her over, and caressed her in his arms. Her face was covered by blood-stained hair. It's hard to see.

"Miss?"

As he tried to wake her up, he gently brushed her hair.

"Miss? Little ......"

The call was cut off, and only silence remained in the room. It was so quiet that you could hear the sound of the uproar's breathing, which had become uneven.

What appeared in front of the uproar was a flawless oriental face. Every rhetoric is superfluous to this work of art. She does not need the praise of the world because she is a miracle work of the Creator.

Blood oozed from the corners of her mouth, but the blood stains were like Venus's severed arm, which made people appreciate art while adding a beautiful and miserable sadness.

I don't know how long the silence lasted, and no one knows how long it will last. Uproar has become deeply infatuated with this work of art. He gently wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth, his fingers touching her cold skin, no temperature.

The cold traveled along the nerves of Ann Ran's fingers to Ann Ran's brain, causing the paralyzed brain to work again. But a strong sadness occupies the commanding heights of reason.

It was clear to the uproar - that a living person should not and could not have such a temperature, and that the uproar really didn't want to believe it - that she was dead and uproar was sad for no reason. Perhaps he is lamenting the loss of this artwork.

Just when the uproar's brain was still in a semi-short circuit, a slight change appeared on that beautiful but slightly miserable face.

"Nope! She's not dead yet, she opened her eyes! ”

"Oh my God! What beautiful eyes that were. ”

Those eyes were as bright as the moon and as deep as a black hole.

A strong ** radiated from those eyes, eager and crazy.

Uproar saw this ** and understood it even more.

This ** means death for the uproar!

The echo of the word death hadn't reverberated in the uproar's skull for a week before she pounced on the uproar. The beautiful face that had just made the uproar adrenaline rush now had a firm ** written on it.

That is, the eating of its piercing lips kissed the uproar of the neck, a slight chill. But soon the uproar was no longer felt.

Why "it"? Because the uproar is now unsure whether it is human or not!

"Why? Why? Why don't I feel anymore? ”

Uproar began to fear because he was going to die. It's been half a year, and he thinks that he doesn't know what fear is like for a long time, because he is not even afraid of death, what else is he afraid of? But when he smelled death again, he was still terrified. This is why our subconscious mind is also deeply branded with the worldly idea, the fear of death.

"I'm dead, I'm a cold corpse like it. No! It shouldn't be called a corpse, it should be called a shell, and although it has no soul, at least it can move. Prove it in a simple, straightforward way! That's killing! ”

The uproar was still there, but it must have been an illusion, and the blood in his body had been drained. He was already a shriveled corpse. He could feel that he was still there because his brain cells weren't completely dead.

He seized the moment of this breath and began to think: "Is this breath before death still known as the soul?" ”

Uproar's consciousness was blurred, he knew he was almost over, he was exhausted! I don't even have the strength to close my eyelids, so is this called death? It's miserable!

"I'm going to Mom and Dad, I'm going to see them soon."

In the next second of the uproar, a soft whisper sounded in the room: "He's dead?" Yes! He's dead! This soft murmur is like a girl's cry for the loss of her boyfriend.

The whisper turned into a sob, and then into a hysterical howl!

"I'm no different from them! And they were right! We are demons! Demon! ”

That beautiful body is like a small fishing boat sailing in a storm, trembling non-stop!

This scene is really very discordant with the scene just now! If this scene was seen in an uproar, what would his expression be? It's ironic.

The crying continues, just like the night of Valentine's Day doesn't go too early.

The ceremonial flowers are still rushing into the sky one after another, they are competing, who can fly higher, who can bloom more gorgeously, but after all, what greets them is only the eternal destruction after that moment of splendor.