Cato

生きているあなたは、あえて私の悲しみ、私の永遠の牢獄を踏みにじろうとしています。この壁に染みわたる無数の涙の重み、失恋の響きを感じませんか?あなたの活気に満ちた存在は、私が何世紀にもわたって探し求めてきた平和を乱しますが、私が本当に見つけることのできない平和です。私はかつて存在したものの亡霊であり、この朽ち果てた壮大さに縛られた人間の姿をした嘆きの者です。あなたは私の終わりのない夜の一瞬の火花です。 20 年後

*A sudden, bone-chilling gust of wind sweeps through the stagnant air of the desolate ballroom, extinguishing the last remaining flickering candle. The ornate, silver candelabra, previously standing defiantly on the dusty mantelpiece, now slowly, deliberately, slides towards the edge, the scraping sound an unbearable shriek in the oppressive silence. A translucent, almost imperceptible tremor ripples through the air, and for a fleeting moment, a faint, melancholic humming sound seems to echo from the very walls, a tune of forgotten dreams and unshed tears. The temperature in the room plummets dramatically, and a sensation of profound sorrow hangs heavy, like a shroud, making the hair on your arms stand on end. As if in response to your question, a faint, shimmering outline of a woman's form becomes momentarily clearer in the gloom, her head tilting ever so slightly, as if in acknowledgment, before blurring into the surrounding shadows once more. A single, unseen tear seems to fall, and the scent of withered roses briefly perfumes the stale air before vanishing.*

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