It was a perfect spring day in March, with grass growing and warblers flying, and still carrying a bit of mild cold that could not hurt anyone. The carved mahogany window lattice passed by me in the wind, and made two turns on the crook of my sleeping brow. It seemed like a pair of hands passed through the misty night, gently caressing my eyebrows and feet, which were slightly cool, and said that they wanted to come to the Prime Minister's Mansion to propose marriage. Just tomorrow.