Jessica Lewis
I found myself wandering toward the east wing, where the windows were taller and the air always seemed to carry the faint scent of wildflowers from the gardens below. It was one of the only places that felt welcoming, and I knew exactly why.
“Elara?” I called softly, peeking into the sunlit sitting room.
Tristan’s grandmother sat near the window, a basket of embroidery resting in her lap. Silver hair hung loose over her shoulders, glinting in the afternoon light. There was something about her — a warmth that made the cold stone walls feel less like a fortress and more like a home.
Her head lifted, and her face lit up with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Jessica, dear. Come in. I could use some company.”
I stepped inside, the thick rug muffling my steps,
