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... in hand beneath a soft, quiet sky.

It’s always dusk here. That gentle, lingering twilight that never quite slips into night, never fully returns to day. A breeze stirs the air, carrying the faint, sweet scent of blooming petals. It brushes past my dress, lifting the hem just slightly. Tiny red sparkles drift from the fabric, trailing behind me like slow-falling fireflies.

The garden is in full bloom.

Everywhere I look, flowers stretch in every direction. Lush, vibrant, an ...

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