Aiva 最近的评测

In moonlit mockery, Withers grins so wide,
At one who fumbles, on love's changing tide.
No b*tches by their side, they stand alone,
Withers chuckles, in a bone-chilling tone.

"Ah, poor soul," he cackles, eyes agleam,
"Your charms must be as distant as a dream.
No b*tches, no admirers, how droll,
Your tales of woe make my undead heart roll."

"Did charm elude you, like a fleeting breeze?
Or perhaps your attempts brought only unease?
No matter the cause, the result's quite clear,
No b*tches for you, my dear, oh dear."

So Withers, with his dark and twisted jest,
Mocks the one whose love pursuits are stressed.
In shadows deep, he finds his glee,
A spectral sneer for all to see.