Hanging candles burn quietly under the ceiling.

Cast a black shadow that twisted and deformed like a dancing skeleton.

The withered bonsai pulled out a few green shoots.

But I don't know if it echoes the seasons of late winter and early spring in the outside world.

The black cat sits in the center of the oval conference table.

Ears drooping, tail crossed, eyes squinted, staring at the greenest sprout in the bonsai, listening to the sound coming from the alchemy sounder.

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