She inhaled deeply, the scent settling in her chest—and for the first time since breakfast, the weight on her shoulders eased.
Dahlia stood beside Maya at the entrance of the manor, the stone steps cool beneath their feet. The towering facade seemed to rise effortlessly from the forest floor, flanked by pines that swayed gently in the afternoon sun.
Maya’s eyes widened, taking in the intricate carvings along the wooden doors, the ivy creeping across the stone walls, the quiet grandeur of the place.
“Aunt Dahlia… this place is… beautiful,” she whispered, almost breathless. “Where… where are we?”
Dahlia’s gaze softened, a warm smile spreading across her face.
“It is my great-grandmother’s home,” she said gently, voice carrying the weight of memory. “A place where your mother and I would
