The garden had changed since Elysia first arrived at the castle. It was subtle, not obvious to an outsider but to her, it felt like a quiet evolution.
The sharp corners of discipline and structure were still there this was still Malvoria's domain, after all but there were new colors, new scents, new things growing in places that had once been only stone.
The roses had flourished.
She could see them now soft pink, deep crimson, pale gold threading their way through the trellises like careful rebellion.
The gardener, an old demon woman with vines for hair and a back bent like a question mark, had once grumbled that they were too delicate for the demon realm. But clearly, someone had convinced her otherwise.
The sun was just beginning to dip below the western towers, painting the sky with bruised violets and soft, fading gold.
A cool breeze rustled the tall grass at the edge of the stone path, and the shadows of the hedges lengthened, stretching like lazy cats across the ground.
