Chapter 13 - Thistle

The thistle stood sentinel in the wilder edges of Lillian’s garden, its spiky leaves and proud purple bloom a defiant declaration against any who dared to encroach. It was a flower that demanded respect, that thrived on its own terms, and today, its thorny spirit echoed the unease settling in Lillian’s heart.

Adrian arrived as he always did, a gentle breeze of quiet presence. He carried a small, carefully wrapped package, its edges softened by a silk ribbon the colour of a dove’s wing. He held it out to her, his eyes, those deep wells of calm, meeting hers. “A little something,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that always seemed to soothe the frantic beat of her pulse. “I saw it and thought of you.”