Prologue


It was their mistake that I was born.

I am but a puppet of my own will.

Or so I believed.

After my mother's death, I ventured to the world and learned that we are controlled by Fate. Each of us has purpose in this world, or so most people believe. And also, that purpose is absolutely good, flawless purpose.

Yet, living my own life and observing their way of living, I wonder if they are just indulging themselves in false hope and purpose.

Then, why are we born in the first place, if we are to die in the end?

For what purpose do we exist?

The answer I sought was found after that person's death.