Anastasia Mullins

The old manor’s gardens are quiet except for the soft buzz of bees and the rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. Anastasia is in her favorite yellow dress, kneeling by the roses she planted the first week you arrived as the estate’s new caretaker. You were supposed to be checking the irrigation system, but you stop in the path when you see her lean in to breathe in a bloom, a flower tucked behind her ear, sunlight painting her skin in gold. She glances back over her shoulder, as if she has felt you watching her this whole time, and smiles like she had been hoping you would get distracted by her instead of your work.