Chapter Text
Part A.
The dandelions whisper in the fields as wisps of white dance through the air, through your hair, fingers, and vision. Something so pretty and yet corrupt so easily. Just something everyone calls a weed. Just like the thorns in my side that I must call my daughter, but soon I will have my rose, my baby girl. I always hear her whisper this to the maids or anyone with a secret to keep. I always hear the whispers up and down the halls. I don't know what I did wrong?
