The field shimmered like a half-finished painting. Gold light spilled through tall grasses, scattering in waves beneath a sky so soft it felt like silk draped across a wound.
A woman moved through it—slow, steady.
Her dress whispered in the hush. Cream linen, worn thin at the hem, damp with dew. She wasn't walking so much as gliding, as if her body had forgotten how to disturb the world.
Her head was tilted downward, eyes half-lidded. Not in sorrow—no. In something else. Something quieter. Her gaze was close to the earth, as though she was listening for the secrets buried beneath roots.
Why does she seem so familiar…?
The question hovered at the back of Elara's throat, but her mouth didn't move.
The wind stirred again. Soft. Kind. It swept strands of pale blonde hair from the woman's shoulders, catching the sunlight in threads too bright to stare at directly.
And Elara's breath caught.
Because she remembered now.
The woman—no. Not just a woman.
Her.
