PROLOGUE

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A rose. Just like a rose meant to be in a beautiful garden tilting towards the wind, which stands with essence having a sharp thorny stem. What would you look at? The stem with sharp thorns or the beautifully bloomed widened rose with dark shaded petals?

If you want that, You would risk your hand just to have the flower. But isn't it worth it? Worth the smell and beauty?

What would you do when you know that whatever happened in your life has gone according to your imaginations? Were they your predictions? Or your manifestations?.

[This story is well suited for people who know quite a bit south Indian languages as it would add some essence while reading, translation will be available]

Thank you.

Your Author,

Lumière.

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