She had been born under difficult circumstances just seven years ago, and ever since that singular day, her mother had watched over her with some concern. Slim and seemingly fragile as a blade of grass, she felt things deeply. Easily moved by the tiniest sadness or the smallest happiness, the world appeared to settle differently on her sensitive skin.
She was inspired by beauty and, more than anything, she loved art. She would draw quietly for an hour or more, expertly manipulating pastels, sketching elaborate gardens that stretched for as far as the paper could see. Shyly -- a single sheet clutched behind her back -- she would then present her work, with anxious eyes. Her voice earnest, she would whisper the meanings of her drawings into her mother's ear, her intentions strangely complex for such a small girl.
Her room was to be a reflection of herself -- fresh and simple but delicate and layered. She gazed gravely at the computer screen when shown the patterns that had been designed to her mother's specifications by Royal Design Studio from thousands of miles away. Every morning before she left for school, she counted the number of days until the painters' arrival.
Suddenly, they were there, with paint brushes and stencils in hand. Of the projects slated for that week, it was her room that flowed the most easily........the patterns spilling onto the floor, onto the doors, along with infinite kindness.
Then....then it was done.
The paint was to be left alone for some days before it would be sealed. Her mother would find her standing carefully at the entrance of her room, her head cocked against the door frame. Looking, just looking, at that which -- through some magic of the universe -- was now hers........
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