Based on a V.F. Sterrett illustration, a paint test

Marowit came upon the most beautiful tree. But he was not captured by the perfect fruit it bore, instead an old memory of gems, strung between the branches, which somebody once intentionally tangled there. ‘What is that?’ the prince inquired, as if the old steward knew everything about everything.

     ‘They are old words, your majesty,’ said the steward.

     ‘What do they say?’

     ‘Nobody remembers, my lord.’

     ‘They’re beautiful.’

     You are beautiful, thought the steward, but said: ‘An air full of song, your grace. The color of dreams.