Arabella didn't have many expectations as she closed her eyes, letting herself drift into the faint memory. But when she opened them again, the world had shifted.
She was no longer in her room, nor in the present moment— she stood behind a tree, its bark rough beneath her palms, and looked down at a young man sprawled over one of its branches.
His eyes were sharp, vicious, as if he had just seen an enemy appear from nowhere. His small hands gripped the branch tightly, knuckles white with tension.
But when his gaze landed on her, a small girl, the tension in his shoulders eased, and the hardness in his eyes softened.
The young man's fierce vigilance gave way to something more human, more vulnerable. It was their first meeting, Arabella realized, the memory rushing back in pieces like a shattered mirror.
She remembered, too, the day her parents had fought.
