Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember... But where are those who share the memory?
One shall descend once again
Everyone has their limits.
Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust.
No one has eyes in the back of their heads.
I hear the voice of fate, speaking my name ın humble supplication.
The realm is no home for a Princess
Fleeting glories are the highest expression of mortal beauty, for are we mortals not like the flashing lightning itself? Like a lovely dream or blossoming spark, we shall leave a gorgeous mark on the eternal night sky.
The ruler who claims to have perceived all forever aims to hoard celestial glory. But this vision that cannot be shared only leads people to long for it more fiercely, like moths diving into the flame.
Elegance brooks no flattery, and the elegant are ever noble. They are like the sea eagles who soar on high to contend with the resounding storms. They will not cater to philistine vulgarity, as one would not cast a flower crown into the mud, staining its dignity.
The fleeting nature of this mortal world is the essence of beauty, for are our lives in this world not akin to the levin flash? Yet the might of the divine comes suddenly, and before the roar of eternity, who can stand?