Once upon a time… Part I

Deep in the heart of the Bulgarian mountains, where the snow seemed to shine eternally and the wind sang through the old fir trees, lived a young woman named Rosalina, known as the “Princess of the Mountains.” But this princess did not wear a golden crown, did not live in a castle, and did not rule a kingdom. Her crown was the freedom of the mountains, her power the self-sufficiency she had found in the rugged beauty of nature.
Her home was a small, rustic wooden cabin, built with her own hands and a good dose of adventurous spirit – simple and unadorned, yet strong and unshakable, like the mountains themselves.

Rosalina was a woman who loved winter – the fresh, biting snow, and the endless walks through the snowy hills. Winter came each year with an icy silence, enveloping the mountains in a silver blanket of snow and ice. But inside her cabin, it was warm and cozy, with a fire in the hearth that chased away the darkness until the crackling wood was the only sound one could hear.
In these deep nights, when the fire burned and the scent of fresh wood and melted wax filled the air, she found peace, thoughtful and full of dreams, surrounded by soft furs and oil lamps flickering in the dark.

Her heart belonged to the mountains, which she knew like a good friend.
And yet, despite this sense of security, and although she loved solitude, she often felt that something was still missing. Something she hadn’t yet found – perhaps an adventure, perhaps a revelation, or perhaps just a little more life.
It wasn’t loneliness that troubled her, but the vague feeling that there was still more to discover. She wanted to discover herself – the woman she was before the world gave her a name.
And so, even though she felt at home in the wilderness of the mountains, Rosalina was not only an adventurer. She had a big heart for the people in the villages near the mountains. She often helped the elderly women chop wood, carried firewood for them, or assisted them with cooking over open fires. It wasn’t that Rosalina spoke much. She spoke little, but her actions spoke for themselves. With a quiet smile, she played with the children, taught them archery, or showed them how to find the best path through the forest in winter. She was a woman who helped with her hands and led with her heart.

In the eyes of the villagers, she was a gentle hero who could not only tame the snow but also warm the lives of those around her.
Rosalina had learned the art of archery from her beloved father, who had wanted her to be strong and independent from an early age. He had introduced her to the craft of archery, showing her how to draw the bow with a graceful yet determined hand.
Even when the time came for her to let him go, she had not lost the courage to challenge herself, and continued to fight for what she believed was right. Since his death, Rosalina had honored his teachings, and the mountains became her safe place where she quietly searched for the meaning of her life.

One morning, as the snow fell in gentle arcs from the sky and the forest was wrapped in a mysterious silence, Rosalina took her bow and rode her white horse, “Rada,” through the deep snow. Her blonde hair blew in the wind, her clothes, white as snow, shimmered in the sunlight. Beside her galloped her second horse, “Peppi,” also white, just as graceful and wild as she herself. Her bow was firmly in her hand, and she felt the familiar warmth of the wood as she drew the bow and nocked an arrow.
They rode through the snow-covered forest, the wind in their hair, seeking an answer, a new adventure that might lead her life in a new direction.
She loved these moments of freedom, when the snow crunched beneath the horses’ hooves, and she felt like the only person in the world – and perhaps, just a little, the queen of winter.
But this time, she was not alone…

By Sarah K.