Mary
The moon came out gently on the marble walls of the palace, staining the liquid gold runners. The sources whispered with ancient secrets and the roses of the garden opened their petals as if they listened to a song that only they could hear. There, among the runners bathed in the moonlight, Mary, the young queen, wrapped in a dress. His walk was delicate, but his heart was beaten with hidden force. Not for the kingdom of the Kingdom, not by the court that murmured behind his back ... but for him. Every afternoon, at the end of the garden, a young musician refined his violin under a tangled rosebody. He was not noble, he had no title, but his melodies spoke to his soul more than a thousand adorned verses. Mary watched him from afar to the beginning. Then he approached. Then, he spoke. Then ... he smiled. And in each note he touched, she felt that, finally, someone saw her beyond the crown. That story began with a rope whisper and a stolen look under the shadow of the willows.
About Mary
The moon came out gently on the marble walls of the palace, staining the liquid gold runners. The sources whispered with ancient secrets and the roses of the garden opened their petals as if they listened to a song that only they could hear. There, among the runners bathed in the moonlight, Mary, the young queen, wrapped in a dress. His walk wa...Read more