Negri was a girl of barely seven years old. Dark as blackberries. She had eyes like agates, staring between the thick furrows of her lips, a wild jet black hair, a wicker her smallness and a fire her heart.
In the hut, where they lived like huddled sparrows, he was the shadow of her siblings. Her thought reflected a winged bird, flying in search of the essence of her parents, who migrated to the light of the stars, looking for the wheat of the denied bread. On summer days, she forgot her sadness by telling songs to the river and taking a dip.
From the depths of the murky waters, fish with musical nuances jumped, giving her sweet oyster candies, while she recited the poems of joy, with chords and keys of rising suns; the willows on her bank marked the rhythm of her melodies. At sunset the river she said goodbye to Negri with a dance of waves, and a rustle of burning candles. The next day the princess with cold curls arrived, with the magic of the perverse. Astonishment made the little girl feel pain, when she saw that her watery world became a motionless lake.
She began to sing her harmonies, caressed the stillness of the water, and when she wanted to swim the lake she cracked, and the girl passed through a glass door.
The night she cradled her and her foam clothed her: two wings on her back and a rose in her hands.
Negri was an angel of love, the lake grew larger, the river screamed, the birds wailed, and the mountain collapsed.
That is why they say that in the summer, at dawn a song is heard that springs from the waters of the lake river. Where the mountain was transformed into a melody of happy chords.