Baldwin's Mansion
The morning unfolded like a quiet breath across the Baldwin estate. A pale blush of sunlight kissed the tops of the trees, casting long golden shadows that danced across the dew-covered grass. The air was crisp and clean, with the faint scent of roses and damp earth wafting through the garden.
Savannah stood barefoot on the cool, soft ground, a light robe wrapped loosely around her, its ends fluttering softly in the breeze. Her hair cascaded down her back, still a bit tousled from sleep, and her face wore that raw stillness of someone who hadn't quite emerged from her dreams—or maybe hadn't really slept at all. She took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air fill her lungs, anchoring her in the one part of her life that still felt untouched by the chaos that surrounded her.
Every morning—without fail—she found her way out here. Not out of habit, but out of necessity. This space, this solitude, this delicate hush before the world stirred, was her sanctuary. It was the only time she allowed herself to truly feel. To process. To breathe without the weight of expectation.
Her steps were slow as she wandered through the garden, the path familiar beneath her feet. The flowers she had planted weeks ago were beginning to show signs of life—tiny buds quivering at the tips, colors just starting to peek through the green. She crouched beside one particularly delicate plant, tracing the edge of a petal with her fingertip. She noticed one particular plant-its leaves wilted, the soil too dry, the life in it fading.
A pang of sadness tugged at her heart.
Even the flowers are weary.
She knelt beside it, gently brushing the edge of a petal. It mirrored her own feelings—barely hanging on, pretending to bloom while wilting inside.
After a few long moments, Savannah stood and made her way to the patio, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath her as she stepped into the familiar space. She settled onto the long white bench beneath the pergola, draped with climbing ivy. Leaning back, she closed her eyes. Her thoughts floated away, dissolving into the gentle hum of birds beginning to stir, the rustle of wind through trees, and the distant sound of water trickling from the garden fountain.
Ten minutes slipped by.
Then, a sound broke the silence—faint, yet familiar.
She slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the warm glow of the rising sun. Her gaze landed on a figure just a few feet away, slightly hunched, focused, with his back turned to her.
There was no mistaking who it was.
"Elijah?" she called softly from her seat, her voice drifting across the patio.
He didn't turn around. "The flowers," he said matter-of-factly, "they're about to die. Can't you see that?"
His tone wasn't accusatory—it was just a statement of fact, maybe tinged with a hint of frustration.
Savannah watched as he tilted the watering can, letting gentle streams of water flow into the soil. Her eyes followed to the plant he was tending. It was the same wilted one she had noticed earlier—the one that felt like a reflection of herself.
She didn't respond right away. Instead, she observed him—how precise his movements were, how quietly he worked, how he poured just the right amount into each root.
And yet... the irony wasn't lost on her.
Even those around her were now nurturing the things she had let wither.
Elijah moved from one plant to the next, giving each the care it needed. Savannah remained silent, her arms loosely folded in her lap, simply watching.
After about fifteen minutes, he finally turned to her. His eyes softened as they met her face, and in the warm morning light, he noticed it—the weariness etched into her features, the way her eyes held untold stories. Her body was present, but her mind... it felt miles away.
"Haven't seen you in a while," she finally said, her voice quiet yet steady, her gaze still fixed on some distant point.
"Was on some duty," he replied, brushing his hands together as he set the watering can aside and stood in front of her. "Company things."
She nodded absentmindedly, not probing any further. That was just how she was.
But he... he couldn't keep quiet this time.
"You know..." he started, his voice barely above a whisper, "you're pathetic."
The words lingered in the air, not sharp like daggers but heavy with truth.
Savannah blinked slowly, turning her gaze toward him.
He held her stare.
"How far are you planning to go with this?" he asked. "This... act of pretending you're okay? Letting everyone believe you're fine while you're crumbling inside?"
The question struck her harder than she anticipated. Yet, she didn't flinch. Didn't respond. Her eyes drifted away from him again, back to the garden soaking in the morning sun. The warmth had finally reached the flowerbeds, making them glow softly with a hint of hope.
But she remained silent.
Elijah observed her. She was unraveling slowly, like a thread pulled too tight—and still, she managed a smile. So small. So faint.
She rose from the bench, her robe swaying gently as she turned to face him for a brief moment. Her expression was serene, but there was something fractured behind it—something that felt incomplete.
"Have a good day, Eli," she said softly.
And then she walked away.
Elijah didn't follow. He stood there, jaw clenched, brows knitted together. He watched her retreat further and further until she disappeared behind the hedges and the curve of the path.
He couldn't fully grasp her. Not entirely.
But he understood her pain.
And he hated seeing her bear it alone.
The garden fell silent once more—but somehow, the flowers didn't seem like the most delicate things in it anymore.
Author's Note :
Thankyou for reading<3
Have a good day/night<3<3