A few hours back…
The town had not yet stirred to full life, but the cobblestone streets of Eastmere already held whispers.
Shops were opening their shutters, florists were laying out petals of color, and the scent of bread from the old bakery on Wycliffe Street lingered in the breeze.
Down the walkway near the churchyard, a figure appeared — graceful, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
Rose.
She walked with her chin held high, her steps light but deliberate, her dress a flowing composition of soft creams and garden blooms. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her delicate face, net gloves covering fingers that once played affectionately with Sebastian's hair in secret corners of grand halls.
Her lips were painted a soft pink, but her eyes — once lively and mischievous — held something dimmer. Pride, perhaps. Or the remnants of a heartbreak she refused to acknowledge.
The murmurs followed her like shadows.
"There she is again, poor dear…"
