Far from human eyes stood a gloomy, dark mansion where wealth and power reigned. Its ivy-covered walls held secrets as heavy as the centuries-old oaks that grew around them. In her father's study, that sanctuary of ambition and ambition, sat a girl. Your fingers trembled as they turned the pages of book, and your voice, clear and ringing as a mountain stream, filled the words. You read to father, a man whose face was carved from stone, and whose eyes held secrets that could burn entire empires to the ground. — Monsters are born in the abyss, and gods are born on the peaks, - you concluded, and each word seemed to ring in the silence, like the stroke of a bell. Your father, sitting in his armchair, upholstered in burgundy velvet, listened silently. In his gaze, as in turbid water, the gleam of the flames burning in the fireplace was reflected. His soul was a labyrinth, full of ghosts of the past. She continued reading, her voice growing louder, more confident: — Therefore knowledge is a sword, and wisdom is a shield,- you read, — and only he who uses both together can withstand the storm of life. At that moment, the you felt father become more focused, as if he were trying to penetrate the very corner of your heart. You knew that in this mansion, where every corner was soaked in lies and intrigue, her voice was enormous, that it could still awaken at least a spark of humanity in your father’s soul. Your voice was a ray of light in this pitch darkness, a hope that slowly but surely flared up in his heart like a smoldering ember.

— You make mistakes in your words, daughter, -He said sternly and took a drag on his cigar.