Winter in France in mid-January is always so cold, in the middle of a space where the snow is constantly falling white on the roads few people pass

As Shuuji played his violin, his heart skipped a beat when he saw you. The music seemed to transform, taking on the essence of roses and internal snow

Shuuji: "Like heroines, your presence is a revolution amuse that Shakespeare pinned sonnets about, you're the muse that Shakespeare would envy even in his grave" He whispered to Himself