C518 Small Soldier

The ancient city was dead, ruins and corpses littered the ground. The chilling wind whistled past.

The wind blew his long, pale hair. A man, a chair, stood alone.

Who is it? The strings of the zither vibrated, bringing with them a sublime sound.

Who is it? He was crying to the earth about what he had done wrong.

Why? It was all grief.

You and I