WITHERED

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In the midst of the pandemonium, there is a flower that appears to be unharmful. Thunder erupted when someone plucked it. The bats scatter like a flock of birds; the birds screech loudly, and the wolf howls under the scorching heat of the sun. Well, they are all havocking. While they had no idea that this flower was the peacekeeper,

Time passes, yet the riots continue. They've been annihilated by their own kind. Unlike before, there is a flower that acts as a defense mechanism. And since it's too late now, they won't be able to see what they've done.

Again, it's already happened once more. They have drank the pollen from the bloom and tossed it out like trash when it was completely depleted. Surprisingly, the flower is me.

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