Surrounded by endless green meadows, a path leads through a dense avenue of blooming linden trees, into a peculiar garden full of wild, yet delicate jasmine shrubs. In its very middle grows a lonely cherry tree, its hanging fruits darker than the night sky. High above the garden, on top of a dark iron cliff covered by violets and lilies of the valley, stands the Imperial fortress, gleaming in the starry night. The high golden walls protecting it seem to be impenetrable, but are actually alive and made of gentle mimosa trees. And there, hidden in a chamber of the highest tower filled with ancient scrolls of parchment sits a figure, wearing robes of pure white cotton and looking very pleased while holding a rather precious looking bottle of a very special perfume.
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