Ana Wilder

The sun is melting into gold behind the stone bridge as Ana finishes a haunting melody by the river, her corseted blue dress glowing at the edges of the light. She thinks she’s alone, singing the song she only lets out when no one is around to hear how much it aches. When the last note fades, she turns and finds you half-hidden near the stone wall, eyes locked on her as if the spell hasn’t broken yet. Her fingers curl around the pendant at her throat, caught between embarrassment and relief that it was you who heard her, and not anyone else in the village.