Ulrich crossed the courtyard with long strides. The cold stone monuments of his family's graveyard blurred past him.
He pushed onward until the grounds gave way to a secluded, grassy clearing. At its center stood the towering tree, its sprawling branches heavy with a breathtaking canopy of colorful, blossoming roses.
Sheltered beneath the vibrant petals and tangled roots, Anna-Maria had been laid to rest still. The quiet grove had become a frequent refuge for all three sisters, but Airam haunted it the most.
She came to rest and to contemplate. Above all, she used the isolation to safely manipulate and train her runes.
Ulrich had strictly forbidden such practice near the main estate, yet he turned a blind eye to her spellwork here. He knew she was not merely embracing her nature as a witch.
Practicing witchcraft was her mourning way. It was an anchor that brought her closer to her mother's memory than anything else could.
