Days turned into weeks.
Weeks became months.
And before any of them truly realized it, five years had passed.
The little girl who once lay silent beneath heavy blankets, broken by grief, slowly began to grow.
The seasons changed around the manor like pages turning in a story.
Spring brought blooming roses to the garden paths.
Summer filled the marble halls with golden sunlight.
Autumn painted the estate in amber leaves.
Winter wrapped the world in silver frost.
And through every passing season, Amaria remained.
Every morning, she braided Lily's curly reddish-orange hair just as Lucy once had.
Every birthday, she prepared a small celebration, though the day always carried a quiet ache.
On Lily's sixth birthday, she cried while holding her mother's scarf.
On her seventh, Leon gifted her a carved wooden dragon to replace the one lost in the fire.
On her eighth, Lily had begun wandering the herb garden alone, carefully growing the same spices Lucy once used in her cooking.
