Two weeks later, Emma stood at the edge of the garden, watching the moonfall settle over the trees. The grass beneath her feet was neatly trimmed, nothing like the thick, unruly lawn she remembered from winters ago. Back then, she had spent countless afternoons pushing a heavy mower across the estate because it was one of the few things she had been allowed to do without someone reminding her that she did not belong. She had hated that mower, hated the noise and the endless rows of grass she had to cut, yet tonight, the memory brought a small smile to her face. She almost missed it.
Behind her, the doors of the palace stood open, and the sounds of her family drifted into the garden.
"Bryan, give it back!"
"I had it first!"
"You said I could have a turn!"
"You've had three turns!"
Emma shook her head with a smile. Some things had not changed.
