crona ....
he is a just a kid and no-one cared for him as a little child, when he did something right he was punished and when he did something wrong he was useless, when he wrote a poem it was sad he even went into a room and sat in the corner crying. his weapon is his blood ( Medusa melted a demon inside his blood ) his poem goes:...
I cannot speak as long as I am wrong
I cannot be Храбрая сердцем as long as I am alive
How can I end a life?
How am I supposed to deal with this?!?!?!!?
The blackness of my blood reflects,
The darkness that I will always be,
I am a dissapointment and nothing more,
I am pain and...
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