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whispers of shade

whispers of shade

Author: wittleme
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Chapter 1 The Smell of Dust and Daffodils

Word Count: 1110    |    Released on: 10/06/2025

edger, pencil poised in her hand. Outside, early spring sunlight filtered through the plate-glass windows of Bennett Books, casting golden re

ning, she arranged a fresh bouquet on the counter in an old ceramic pitcher painted with blue forget-me-not

ra," came a f

stomer. He wore his usual cardigan and cap, a newspaper tucked under his a

opy of Railroads of the Northeast

wasn't the kind of town that changed much. It was a place of routines, quiet Sunday mornings

.m., when the bell above the door jingled aga

try section and added a small star in the margin, meaning she'd look into it later. When she fin

s standing in

h an effortless mess that hinted at time spent in windier, wilder places. He had a short beard now, and his skin was tann

the same piercing slate bl

e breathlessly, like he w

curled around the edge

gs. Outside, a car drove past on Main Street, tires cr

ept the shop. "I

e here," Clara said befor

eyes. "I could say the same to you.

stiffening, "not all of us w

us had

r than it had a moment ago. She busi

staying?" she aske

nds," he s

d slowly.

ook a step closer, then paused.

g in for her weekly crossword books. Julian stepped aside politely, givin

the weather, and Clara forced herself to smile and resp

n, Julian was gone. A g

dge of her mother's garden. The branches swept low like curt

ree. Fifteen and foolish, caught in that golden

ra slung around his neck and a grin that made h

alone, and still roo

the curtain of leaves and whispere

d didn'

g in Elmridge happe

ever been the kind of

or months-had wandered off again, this time ending up at the old train station three miles from home. A kind stranger had called

even a facility. And Clara knew Emily was waiting for her to step up and

one to uproot him from th

before, he had asked Clara when their mother would be home from choir practice. Cl

can't do this on our own anymore, Clara," she'd said on

ouse. Couldn't bear to see her father staring out the wind

ces: preserve the life they knew or prot

been stirred. The kind of stirring tha

ared at a creased photograph in his

laughing beneath the willow

s thumb and said aloud, as if

to come

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