The scratching of the quill was the only sound in the stillness of the morning. Cecily sat at her writing desk in a haze of soft light, her hair loosely braided, her gown wrinkled from sleep. The warmth of the dream clung to her skin like steam from a bath. Though the name had vanished, his presence lingered. As though he had been real.
As though he still was.
She dipped her quill again and added another line beneath the first:
If I see him again, I must ask him his name. I must not forget it.
She underlined the sentence three times, pressing the tip so hard the parchment nearly tore. The ink bled slightly into the page.
A soft knock at her chamber door startled her. She covered the diary with a handkerchief just as Mrs. Weatherby entered, carrying a silver tray with tea and toast.
"Good morning, my lady," the housekeeper said with a faint smile. "The fire's been stoked. There's rain coming."
Cecily nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Weatherby."
The housekeeper gave her a look—not quite concerned, but lingering. Then she curtsied and left, shutting the door gently behind her.
Cecily rose and crossed to the window. The sky was greying at the edges. Storm clouds gathered beyond the hills. But the garden… the garden called to her. Not just in dreams now, but in the daylight.
She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs. The east wing was colder than the rest of the house, the air sharp with the scent of old stone. The corridor curved toward the garden door, flanked by narrow windows veiled in grime.
The door creaked open at her touch.
She stepped out into the overgrown path, the chill of the air wrapping around her like a shawl. Ivy coiled along the cracked stones. The wrought-iron gate stood ahead, half-swallowed by green.
Cecily approached slowly. Her fingers brushed the iron.
It was cold.
She pushed it open.
Beyond lay the garden. Not as it had been in her dream, but still — beneath the tangle, she could see its bones. The curved paths. The central fountain. The ash tree, now leafless, towering above all.
She walked until she stood beneath it.
She waited.
But no one came.
Still, she whispered: "I will remember you. I promise."