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The Tryst

The Tryst

Year of the Roses

Floral Season

The Gardens, Palace

Altsas

Lyza 

I DON'T WANT TO KNOW what Isla is thinking as I push and elbow my way through the crowd, not minding what the guests will think of the Princess running across the dancefloor and I suck in air as I make my way into the dark gardens.

I can still hear the noise of the party as if I am still the hall. The only difference is the balmy air instead of the scorching heat and the faint scents of flowers and dew. I can hear crickets and distant hoots of owls. The moon is a glowing ball of light, it bathes everything under it — including me in it's ethereal shower.

I know he'll be here. 

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