The heaven was dark, and grey clouds decorated the whole atmosphere. It was cold when it was supposed to be the coming of the warm winds of summer. Very cold indeed, like those bittered lonely days without having someone by your side. The pouring rain echoed the same tune to a musician’s nonsense fumbling lute. The day was austere, maybe sorrowful, with the continuous trembling of the earth. The heaven might have been weeping for the mortals.
No birds were singing on that early morrow. Not a little whoosh of the trees to wake everyone up. Yet inside Princess Primarosa’s new and home-like room was a little boy. The child was about the tender age of four and was roaming around and then innocently playing with the rose petals that fell on the ground. At the same time, he was also babbling
