Emmeline had been seventeen, just a year older than Lilly. She wrote of the war overseas, of the influenza that stole her younger brother, of the weight of being the last Blackthorn on the estate. But mostly, she wrote about the glade—a hidden circle of ancient oaks behind the manor, where she claimed the fireflies spoke in morse code and the stream sometimes sang back if you listened long enough.
Julian laughed, a genuine sound this time. He raised his glass. "You’re a shark in a slip dress, Lilly. Fine. Send the contracts."
It was smaller than she’d imagined, tangled with brambles and shadowed by oaks that had stood for centuries. The stream was a silver thread, barely moving. No fireflies yet. It felt less like magic and more like neglect.
对于您的问题深感抱歉，非常感谢您的举报反馈，小编一定会及时处理该问题，同时希望能尽可能的填写全面，方便小编检查具体的问题所在，及时处理，再次感谢！
