PAULINE
The earth yielded beneath my hands, soft and rich, giving way in a manner most things in my life refused to. I pressed my fingers deeper into the soil, guiding the roots of a young white nightshade into place with steady care, packing the dirt around it until it held firm. The garden had always been my sanctuary, the one place where things bent to my will without question, where I could shape and refine without interference.
The sun settled warmly against my back, sinking into my skin, and for a brief moment, everything felt manageable. Quiet and contained.
Then I heard the footsteps.
Light and quick, uneven in a way that betrayed reluctance. Whoever it was did not want to be here, but had come anyway.
I did not look up.
"Luna Pauline."
The voice was young, strained with nerves, and instantly familiar.
I continued smoothing the soil around the plant, pressing it down with deliberate care before finally glancing over my shoulder.
