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    Sometimes i heard that all of us are bond to a 'father' and 'mother' since we're born, but my childhood would be pacing so
    quickly over the lush green of those gardens (and my bloodbounds, trancafiated within a desolaced tower of the owners of the world) that i didn't even saw or notice my parents enough to really consent with this idea, about their existence.

    Even though, i grew a happy, healthy kid, by the stimulus of books, friendly pets, fruit trees full of worms, scared shaymins, flower fields and smiling faces.
    From the aproned chambermaid to the smallest garden beetle, everybody liked and petted me.

    -Là le coquin vient, lui sourions comme il était un enfant ravissant!!-

    Around me the splendid Harvkovnbrg revolved as a kind of paranormaly private universe,
    subtly restraining my sight of an outside world, the real present time, sometimes presented as fading ideas, through book of foreign things, by my brudda.

    Some bitter eventualities would pull in when ill-favoured women began to populate those corridors by the occasion of a wedding ball, wearing those sticky colorful glue to miserably prettify their expression.

    Ah, forget about the wedding ball specification.
    In absolute continuously time they would haunt that place in search for child' cheeks to deposit their rancid goo, everything concealed as being a "happy complimentation".
    Then i would ignominiously contemplate my sister's blindness a bless, since she would be one less person to clown-up her face and induce a small boy to pee on the bed.

    -Oui-, i was invariably distated by the adult costumes and festivals and every adult-related event in that place, and still i am.
    No wonder why i would find quite pleasing being recluse and shut on a giant quadrupedical chicken, despite it's tedious remoteness that periodically induces me on tragicomicidal thoughts of jumping off the porch.