The forest was different now.
Not darker—but older. The trees no longer whispered in curious tones; they stood still, listening. The path Elowen walked wasn't marked, but her feet seemed to know where to go. Like the wind had left something behind in her—an instinct, a pull, a knowing.
The last note Amara had written stayed close, tucked into her cloak over her heart. The thread that had tied it still dangled from her wrist, trailing faint silver in the early light.
She walked until the brambles gave way to moss-covered stones. A path—half-forgotten, half-remembered—stretched ahead.
Stone by stone.
Each step took effort. Not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what might lie ahead. Every stone felt like a decision. Every shadow held the shape of possibility.
And fear.
Elowen didn't stop.
She passed beneath low boughs and curling ivy until the trees opened up to a hollow glade she didn't recognize—but felt somehow familiar.
The stone path ended in a circle.
At the center stood a monument—small, ancient, weathered with time. Moss crept across its face, and a spiral of white petals circled its base.
A marker.
A memory.
Elowen approached slowly, breath trembling.
There were no words on the stone—only a symbol carved deeply into its surface: two roses, one in bloom, the other wilted. Entwined.
She reached out and touched the stone.
Cold.
Still.
But not lifeless.
As her fingers brushed the symbol, a low hum stirred beneath her skin. Not magic. Not exactly.
Grief.
And recognition.
Behind her, something shifted.
She turned quickly, her heart leaping—and saw nothing. Only trees. Only air.
But the wind had stopped.
The silence was not peaceful.
It was waiting.
"Elowen."
The voice was low, tired. Older than she remembered.
Amara stepped out from the trees. Not cloaked, not hidden. Her dress clung to her like it had traveled through storms. Her eyes were darker—not in color, but in weight.
"You weren't supposed to follow me," she said.
"I didn't follow," Elowen whispered. "I listened."
Amara's lips curved, not in a smile. More like regret. "Then you've heard what I tried not to say."
They stood facing one another across the circle.
Elowen's voice shook. "What is this place?"
Amara looked at the stone. "It was my sister's."
"The one who forgot you?"
Amara nodded. Her gaze dropped. "She didn't forget on her own. I made her."
The wind stirred again.
Elowen felt it curl around her feet, gentle—like a warning. Like a comfort.
"Why?" she asked, her voice softer now.
"Because I loved her," Amara said. "And I was afraid. Afraid of what that love would make me do. Afraid of what I already had done."
She walked to the stone and knelt beside it. Her fingers moved through the petals, slow and reverent.
"I made her forget so she could be free. But the pain... stayed. In me. In this place."
Elowen watched her carefully. "And now you're trying to disappear again."
"I didn't want you to find this," Amara said. "But I left the notes anyway. Because some part of me... needed you to try."
She looked up at Elowen, and in that moment, she looked young. Not in body—but in heart. Like the pain had stripped her bare.
"I'm tired of running," Amara said. "But I don't know how to stay."
Elowen crossed the circle.
She knelt in front of Amara, took her hand, and held it like it was something breakable and beloved.
"You don't have to stay anywhere alone," she said. "You don't have to carry this by yourself."
Amara blinked, as if the idea hadn't occurred to her.
Elowen smiled gently. "Let me remember the pain with you. It doesn't have to hurt forever."
Silence returned.
But this time, it was different.
Softer.
Warmer.
Around them, the petals stirred—rising slowly, like they were drawn to the air between their hands.
The monument glowed faintly.
Not from magic.
But from memory.
Elowen didn't ask Amara for another promise. Didn't reach for a kiss or a vow.
She just sat there, holding her hand, letting the quiet wrap around them both.
Because sometimes, love isn't a fire or a storm.
Sometimes it's just the hand you reach for—when the shadows rise, and you're too tired to run.