Highmoon was exactly as she imagined it must have been when she left, since she had no memory of leaving it. The house was warm and welcoming in a way Valemont had never been. The staff came out to meet them when the carriage arrived, their faces lighting up when they saw her. An older woman with silver hair took Gianna's hands and squeezed them tightly, tears in her eyes. "Welcome home, miss." Gianna did not remember her but she smiled and thanked her anyway. Someone had put flowers in her room, the kind she apparently loved as a girl. She learned this from a servant who had been there since she was born, a woman named Clara who brought her tea that first evening and told her stories about the child she had been. "You used to pick these from the garden every morning," Clara said, gesturing to the vase on the windowsill. "Your father would find them in the strangest places. In his study, on the dining table, once even in his boot." Gianna looked at the flowers and tried
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