And so life
gathers its magic and combines a mist of beauty and history. The paths are
crumbled with faith and honor. The strings of melancholy keep on echoing
through the air. Moorish girls are seen around the fountains. Knights are
struck by civilization. The eras passed and the villa is still unique.
Flourished by its own scent, filled with love and spiced by hatred stories. At
night the echoes of doomed souls surround the narrow streets. Young girls still
perish at someone’s arms, and flowers still resemble their faces. Life remains
…
This is a
small villa called Sintra in the surroundings of Lisbon.
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