The greenhouse was quiet at this hour of the late afternoon light filtering gold and soft through the glass panels overhead, catching on the rows of blooms that lined the walkways. Eleanore hadn't come here with any particular purpose in mind. She'd simply found herself walking in this direction after breakfast, feet carrying her along a path she hadn't consciously chosen.
It wasn't until she stepped inside, the familiar smell of soil and greenery settling over her, that she understood why.
Godmother used to bring me here.
The memory rose unbidden, soft and a little bittersweet, small hands buried in the dirt beside her godmother's, the two of them planting rows of flowers neither of them had any real skill for, laughing every time something wilted within the week despite their best efforts. Her godmother had always said the greenhouse didn't care how good you were at gardening, only that you kept showing up to try. Eleanore hadn't thought about that in years.
