Prologue
In Paris — heart of starry dreams,
Where light and passion twine unseen,
There lives a tale among the trees
Of how the small can hold the keen.
No storm decides, nor fire fierce,
Not thunder’s roar, nor wrath of time —
But just a glance, a sudden warmth
Can seal a mortal’s fate, sublime.
For love lives not in storms or words,
Nor vows, nor roses dressed in flame —
It breathes in simple, daily deeds,
In fleeting looks that have no name.
