"Berceuse" - Chapter I

This is the start of an excersise. On november of 2017, I read a certain short novel, so very short but incredibly beautiful, able to convey love and poetic life in a way longer writings could very well envy. I want to do something like that, at least create a world and circumstances that can be told and appreciated through tiny tiny chapters. How many chapters?, that part isn't planned yet, but they won't be many, and they will all be arround the lenght of this.

The small town of Berceuse had kept for many, many years an image of a nice and quiet place, filled with flowers and walkways, working families and the occasional traveler that wanted to spend a season surrounded by the simple life of the province. In a way, nothing from this had ever changed, but since some 8 years ago, the flowers were mostly ignored, and the most walked paths were now the ones that brought poets, bards and all manners of artists to the same place.

Verses flowed and paintings bleed for a young lady named Loretta, a maiden so graceful and charming that people said she came from a place more divine than heaven itself. And she, all smiles and pale blushings, leaved more than one young man pierced by love’s sharpest arrow, only to peacefully retire. To her house, a cabin on the greenest side of the lake. And when her figure was lost in the distance, daylight died in that place, and nighttime came to shed ice-cold sighs.