I told her to leave. She stayed, and now I can’t breathe without her. They call me the mad Duke of Penrose. A beast locked away in a house as broken as my soul. I wanted silence. I earned it in blood and war. But then she arrived in the storm, small, stubborn, soaked to the bone, claiming she came to restore my mother’s gardens. I tried to banish her. Yet every time I see her hands in the soil, coaxing life from death, something inside me cracks. She speaks to the roses like they can still be saved. And God help me, I start to believe her. Her laughter haunts these empty halls. Her courage burns where my heart used to be. But I can’t let her in. Because if she ever learns the truth about what I’ve done, She’ll flee from me forever. And I’d rather live in ruin than lose her light.