Leah didn’t flinch, though her fingers tightened subtly around the edge of her skirts. She rose fully, not with the precision of a soldier or the elegance of a lady, but with the quiet wariness of someone who had spent her whole life listening for footsteps that weren’t supposed to be there.

Leah’s eyes flicked briefly to the horse, then to the woman now dismounting with a fluid grace that suggested both discipline and danger. Her leathers bore no crest, or seal. That alone was unusual.

Strangers didn’t come here, couldn't, at least unless her parents were expecting someone. 

But here she was, sunlight catching in her fair hair, voice ringing across the garden like a bell that hadn’t been struck in years. Leah’s heart beat a little faster. [i]Damosel[/i].

The word rolled through her like distant thunder. It was formal and oddly respectful. It had been so long since anyone had addressed her with anything other than hushed caution or over-practiced reverence.

Her expression stayed guarded, polite, but her mind moved swiftly. This woman—Estelle—had gotten close enough to speak. That meant one of three things: the wards had weakened, someone had tampered with them.. or she had been let through. By who, and why?

She glanced back at the fence. The shimmer still held. "I suppose there's no harm in that," Leah said softly. Her voice was smooth, unthreatening, threaded with an eerie calm born of too many quiet days. “There’s a trough by the well.” She didn’t step forward, nor did she invite her closer. Instead, she lingered among her flowers like a shade half-belonging to the earth. Her green eyes studied the stranger—not rudely, not suspiciously, but with the quiet reverence of someone trying to decide if they were still dreaming.

[i]Estelle[/i]. That name meant nothing to her. And yet..

There was something else in the air now. Not just tension. Recognition. The woman’s face had changed—eyes widened, then quickly schooled—but Leah caught it. She had learned to read small signs. Flickers of truth beneath the mask.

Her own expression flickered, just faintly, with something close to curiosity. “Most travelers don’t find this place by accident,” she murmured, her hands absently brushing a leaf from her skirt. “The road ends nearly a mile back, and the rest is forest. It’s easy to get turned around. And yet here you are.”

She looked back up, more directly this time. Her voice was still soft, still calm, but there was a gentle pressure behind her words now. Not confrontation—invitation. A test of truth beneath civility.

Leah had lived her whole life surrounded by unseen hands, cloaked intentions, and sacred lies. She’d grown used to the feeling of being hidden. But for the first time.. she felt seen. She didn’t know yet if she liked it.