The wind died. The gate stopped clanking. Olivia felt the cold then—not from the air, but from inside her own chest, where a memory of Jane's laugh used to live.
"They say you died, Jane. Three years ago. Fell through ice. No body. Just a hole in the river and a scarf on a branch." olivia would jane wilde
Olivia stepped closer. The grass hissed. Somewhere, a gate clanked—loose metal, or a warning. The wind died