Agnes led her from the garden without a word, her grip gentle but firm, as if she feared Gabrielle might shatter the moment she let go.
Inside, the quiet chamber felt like a refuge. Agnes sat on a velvet-cushioned seat near the window and gave Gabrielle a gentle nod to sit with her.
Gabrielle lowered herself onto the seat without a word. She didn't cry, and she didn't tremble. Her breath came slow and even, the kind of breath a person takes when holding themselves together with the last threads of strength. She sat there like someone who had weathered a long storm: calm on the surface, yet quietly fighting to stay whole on the inside.
Agnes poured tea, but neither of them touched it. She sat beside Gabrielle, queenly, composed, but her eyes carried centuries of ache. When she finally sp
