How many days has it been since I last ate?
Yet this cursed body—this so-called beauty—remains unchanged.
A monster.
That is what I am.
Father… would you look at me differently
if I had been born like everyone else?
Would you be different too?
These flowers—roses brought from the garden.
I have somehow restrained myself from touching them.
They are beautiful.
They are dying.
If death is inevitable,
would it be kinder for them to wither sooner?
If death is inevitable—
if death is not inevitable—
When will it happen?