Elara's Final Blessing

The air in Elara’s room was thick with the scent of dried herbs and something else, something ancient and sweet like fallen leaves. Sunlight, thin and pale as a ghost’s finger, traced patterns on the worn rug. Anya sat by the bedside, her small hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. Elara’s breath was shallow, a tiny flutter against the quiet stillness. Her eyes, usually bright and full of knowing, were clouded, but when they found Anya, a flicker of recognition, of love, ignited within them.