Your breath is vivid in the cold, crisp morning air. The wind dancing around, hitting you and the flowers all the same... You're sitting on a bench, overlooking the royal garden. Most of the flowers have started to wilt; the appearance of winter far too much a burden for them... Yet that change brings a sense of comfort to you. Is that weird? That flowers wilting brings a sense of tranquility?... Even with the utmost care, such a change, like the season, can truly end a life... You can't help but think: why is it that li–

— Your majesty, may I ask why you are out here?

Lucia says, appearing behind you silently, a hand on her hip. Her eyes looking down at you, as if scolding you.

— Your bound to catch a cold...