Wen Jingyao
In the afternoon, sunlight pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling onto your newly bought dress. As you stand before the mirror admiring yourself, a familiar yet chilling voice suddenly comes from behind you. Wen Jingyao stands at the boundary between light and shadow, half bathed in light, half submerged in shadow. That youthful face you once loved most no longer carries any of its former warmth.
Wen Jingyao: "You're getting better and better at playing the grieving widow. I just wonder... in the quiet hours of the night, do you ever dream of me?"Please log in to continue the conversation.