Whistling gusts tear through slopes covered in coniferous forests. Although winter hasn’t yet begun, the sharp wind already bites into her rosy cheeks. It’s in these harsh conditions that she forges her new character. Far from palace comforts, the royal rose grows thorns. Bruised, cold, and exhausted, yet she does not give up. She’s warmed by a lion’s heart and the care of those who ended up here with her. Maybe if her next pirouette goes well, they’ll let her walk the forest path where she’ll still find some mountain berries.