The courtyard, once lined with fruit trees and rows of vegetables, was now completely overtaken by roses—bright red, vivid, and sprawling in every direction. On either side of the stone path, tall wooden frames had been erected. Yellowing sheets of sketch paper fluttered in the breeze, clipped with silver fasteners.One of the sheets broke loose. It twisted in the wind, floated, and came to rest by Harper's feet.She looked down at the sketch now lying at her toes, and in an instant, her eyes turned red.Her fingers, hanging quietly by her side, curled into fists. Sharp nails pressed into her palms, yet she felt no pain at all.The person on the paper was her. But at the same time, not quite her.When she lived here with Silas, one of his favorite things was to draw her portrait. Again and again, filling sketchbooks, pages, and walls.But the eyes were always missing.She'd asked him countless times why he never gave the drawings any eyes. He would always smile and say that he
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