Aurora's Realm
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The morning sunlight poured gently through my curtains, and for once, I didn't feel the urge to pull the blankets back over my head. Yesterday had loosened something in me. Alex had dragged me out, and even though I sulked half the time, he still made me laugh. It was small, but it mattered.
I slipped out of bed, washed my face, and brushed through my hair, letting it fall freely. My reflection in the mirror looked less broken today. Still fragile, but not completely undone.
By the time I stepped out of my room, the smell of breakfast drifted through the hall. Edna was in the kitchen, humming the same tune she always did when she was in a good mood. I leaned against the counter until she noticed me.
"Oh, good morning, sweetheart," she said warmly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Did you sleep better?"
I nodded, my lips curving into the tiniest smile. She always knew how to read me without words. I took the glass of juice she offered and sipped slowly while she fussed around, plating food.
"You should eat more today," she added. "Your cheeks are too thin."
I only rolled my eyes at her in mock protest, and she laughed. That sound alone made me feel lighter.
The garden was waiting for me, and I always found peace there.
I slipped through the back door with a basket of tools in hand. The air was cool, carrying the scent of dew and earth. My flowers greeted me in colors—soft whites, fierce reds, shy purples—each one reaching toward the sun as if nothing could ever hold them down.
I crouched near the roses, brushing a finger gently against the petals. They didn't judge me. They didn't laugh at me. They simply grew, quietly, beautifully. I could almost pretend they were my friends.
"Still out here first thing in the morning," Grandpa's voice rumbled behind me.
I turned and found him leaning on his cane, watching me with that familiar half-smile. His hair was more silver now, but his eyes still carried the weight of strength I had always admired.
I stood and hugged him lightly, resting my cheek against his shoulder for a brief second before stepping back.
"You love this garden more than anything," he said, shaking his head as if pretending to scold me. Then his gaze softened. "I should tell you… we're expecting a guest today. Someone important."
I tilted my head, curious. A guest? He didn't say who, and I didn't ask. I simply nodded, though a small question mark hung in my chest.
Not long after, Alex came strolling out, still looking half-asleep. "You and your flowers again," he teased, stretching as he came closer.
"You know, if you spent as much time with people as you do with these plants, maybe you'd actually start enjoying life."
I gave him a pointed look and flicked water from my watering can at him. He gasped dramatically, clutching his shirt as though I'd wounded him.
"Assault! She tried to drown me!" he exclaimed, making Grandpa chuckle.
I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile, but Alex caught it. "Ah, there it is," he said, grinning. "Proof that I'm the only one in this family who can make you smile."
I rolled my eyes and moved back to the flowerbeds, but the warmth lingered in my chest.
By the time I was done tending the garden, I realized I hadn't painted in days. Weeks, maybe. The thought tugged at me gently, and soon I was carrying my canvas, brushes, and paints out into the open air.
I set everything under the shade of the old oak tree, the grass cool beneath me. My brush dipped into the colors, and I lost myself in the strokes.
The world faded until it was only me, the canvas, and the hum that escaped my lips. A soft, private tune.
The silence was no longer heavy. For once, it was light.
I didn't know then that someone else was already walking into that silence. Watching.
The garden was waiting for me, and I always found peace there.
I bent slightly over my canvas, the brush sliding softly, bringing the roses to life in shades of red. The morning sun warmed my skin, a small breeze carrying the scent of earth and blossoms. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just me, the colors, and the silence.
But then I felt it. A heaviness. The weight of eyes on me.
I turned, slowly, my brush still in my hand.
And there he was.
Dominic Blackwood.
He stood a few paces away, framed by the green of the hedges and the soft gold of the morning light.
He looked unreal, almost too sharp and too perfect to belong to the world I knew. His tuxedo was navy blue today, tailored so precisely it seemed carved to his body.
The black shirt beneath was unbuttoned at the top, just enough to soften the severity of his look, but nothing about him felt soft. Not his stance. Not his eyes.
He looked like a man who carried storms inside him, a man who didn't want to be here.
His gaze flickered to the canvas, then to the garden, and finally, to me. His voice was deep, even, and laced with something cold enough to send a chill through me.
"So this is what you do." His eyes lingered on the painting. "It keeps you occupied, I suppose."
There was no warmth in the words, no hint of curiosity—only distance, as though he were standing a thousand miles away even while he was right in front
of me.
I froze, my brush hovering uselessly over the canvas. The words weren't cruel, but they weren't kind either. Detached, like I was some obligation, something he had to glance at and acknowledge before moving on.
I swallowed, trying to steady the sudden tightness in my chest. My fingers itched to sign something, to scribble down a reply on the notepad I always carried. But I didn't move. I didn't want to look desperate for his approval.
Instead, I forced myself to meet his gaze. His eyes were unreadable, dark and unwavering. They made me feel small, as though every weakness I tried so hard to hide was written across my face in letters he could easily read.
So I did what I always did when words failed me. I pretended. Pretended that the brush in my hand mattered more than the man standing before me. Pretended his coldness didn't sting. Pretended I wasn't trembling inside.
And still, I felt his presence pressing down on me, heavy, inescapable.
Grandpa's voice broke the silence.
"Ah, Mr. Blackwood, you found her." His smile was warm, but I caught the tiny flicker of strain at the corners of his mouth.
Alex stepped forward, water glass still in hand. "So now you know, Dominic. My sister hides here most mornings." He gave a small chuckle, nudging me lightly on the shoulder. "Don't mind her—she prefers roses and paint to people."
I felt my lips twitch, like maybe I should smile, but Dominic didn't make it easier. He didn't laugh, didn't soften, didn't even look at Alex for long. His eyes returned to me, unreadable and sharp, and suddenly Alex's humor fell flat.
The silence returned, heavier now.
I gripped my brush tighter, refusing to look down first. Grandpa cleared his throat and took a cautious step forward.
"Dominic, don't be too harsh on her," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "She's… delicate, you know."
Alex, sensing the need to inject some levity, chuckled softly. "Yeah, big bro, give her a break. She's just a kid… well, almost."
He winked at me, nudging my shoulder again, and I couldn't help but let a tiny smile sneak through, though I tried to hide it.
Dominic's gaze didn't waver from me. Not once. Not a flicker of humor, not a hint of indulgence. His posture remained rigid, his expression unreadable, as though the conversation around him didn't exist.
Grandpa sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I see… well, you always were serious, Dominic. Just try to—"
His words died in the air. Dominic's presence alone seemed to absorb the warmth, leaving a cold clarity that pressed down on the garden. Alex's chuckle faltered. Grandpa's smile twitched.
I lowered my brush slightly, pretending to be absorbed in the painting, but I could feel the weight of him watching, calculating, detached. Every laugh and joke around him felt swallowed, meaningless.
Even though they tried, the air was heavy with him.
And still, I kept painting, pretending the brush and the colors were shields I could hide behind.
I lowered my brush slowly and dared a glance up, letting my eyes sweep over the garden as though noticing the sunlight for the first time. Then, I lifted my gaze to him.
A small, careful smile curved my lips. Not forced, not bright—just enough to soften the edges of the moment, to ease the weight in the air.
For a heartbeat, I saw it—an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise in Dominic's eyes. His jaw tightened slightly, and for the briefest second, I could sense that the mask of his control had slipped.
But almost immediately, he straightened, composed, as though nothing had happened, and the storm of unreadable authority returned.
I let my smile linger, and then broadened it slightly, turning just enough to include Grandpa and Alex in its reach. A subtle warmth, a quiet reassurance that everything was still ordinary here.
Grandpa sighed softly, exhaling as though a weight had lifted from his chest.
"Well, that's better," he murmured, shaking his head in relief.
Alex's eyes widened a little, and he let out a quiet laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Finally," he said, nudging me gently. "I think you just tamed the… whatever that was."
Dominic didn't move. Didn't laugh. Didn't acknowledge the shift at all. Yet… somehow, I could feel that he had noticed. That tiny crack in his armor, brief and fleeting, had not gone entirely unseen.
And for the first time this morning, I felt a thread of peace weaving into the garden along with the sunlight.