Irene, you smarty pants!
Irene, you filthy bastard!
Irene, you better study.
Irene, you better behave.
Irene, you are our queen...
Irene, you are my world...
Irene Claudia Kennedy, a senior Intellectual, a junior Royal.
The Quintessential Rose of E...
At midsummer noon, the hot sun roasted everything in front of you mercilessly. The concrete floor in the castle shined like a bronze mirror, the rays stabbed so that you can't open your eyes. The trees are pulling their heads, weakly following this difficult time, and from time to time.
Irene was sitting under a tree and refining her painting while watching the three boys play in the garden. She straightened the drawing board, stroked the paper, and focused on the detailed depiction of the landscape in front of her. She held the paintbrush and looked at the distant scenery. She contemplated for a while, then suddenly retracted her gaze, as if she had some inspiration: Then she focused on tracing a little bit on the drawing paper, waving a few splashes of ink, and every stroke contained passion. Perhaps she was inspired, and the paint-stained her clothes without even noticing it.
The warm sun sprinkled on her delicate face, and the mottled shadows on the paper matched the ink marks. The breeze is tasteless as if she and the painting in her hand are the only color in this world.
A boy, about 14 years of age, slowly went up the tiny slope towards her and hid behind the tree before popping out to surprise her.
"Oh, William!" the seven years old Irene looked cool and contended.
"Well, I must say you sacred me."
"Oh, what's up? You don't usually talk to me, y'know."
"Harry and I were just thinking about putting some special items in a box and burring them in the ground to preserve something from our childhood that could look back to later in life."
"Well, I have this painting"
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"This is beautiful, don't you want to keep it?"
"I painted this because I thought you have to remember your mother. She loves you boys so much and If this drawing could, as you said, preserve something from our childhood, then, this is the best thing that this painting could do."
"Thank you, Irene."
"What do you plan to put in it?"
"Harry wants to put the checkered fold that our family likes to use for picnics, he's now asking for ma's permission."
"I am asking about you."
"Well, I haven't thought about it yet, but I most definitely will put something in."
"Sure you will."
The sunlight reflected on her face, her frowning brows gradually loosened, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. In an instant, she raised a bright smile, which was deeply moving.
He smiled too.
The next chapter will be about the tragic death of Diana, Princess of Wales
