Moonlit Promises: A Tale of Shadows and Redemption

anied by the tapping sound of the rain against the stained glass. She could feel the words that Eliot bore down on her but found herself withou

o Hawthorne only to become entangled in some kind of web of cryptic hints and half-truths? Her voice was so weak and tentative that

commanded, shadows seemed to gather wherever he stood, clinging to this damp air as a chill curled around his coat. He l

as like rain: gentle, firm, steady l

ity, but something about the certainty in his words made her pause. His calm felt unyielding

have no idea. I have no idea of what might have happened here. Even if I should trust you. She searched his eyes, pleading

gh to the farthest reaches of her that is, through her to her fears and h

see that you're already troubled by this tug of the past, the pull of the unknown. Scarlett shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She could feel the heat of her frustration building, a mix of impatience and fear. Her mind swirled with memorie

an unasked question, a whispered ans

ou mean b

ere, as though he pondered his sentences. Promises are more than just words, Scarlett. They can hold families

ut his words were evasive and slid through her mind like mist. But why my father? She asked again. Eliot's eyes were steady, unyiel

nd shivers through her body with just the tone in his voice: choices, P

o focus, to stifle the sound and put pieces together of Eliot's meaning. But the

nd, she said, trying to keep her voice steady, t

window streaked with rain. His voice was reflective as

private to her, something fragile. The cost is different for everyone, Scarlett, he said. Some truths will leave you in pain. Some will f

e she had attempted to go back to. She tried to tell herself that mysteries about her father's dis

out? She asked, her voice so low, her heart thu

ou'll face it, he said simply. His words didn't offer false comfort, nor did they promise easy

pushing against the windows, and she wondered whether she could trust herself, or Eliot. H

ed to the soft voice, and for the first time in

at once. How could she look away? How could she go back to her life, to pretend not

self saying, her vo

o change. There was comprehension in his gaze, but there was s

ett could feel the finality of his words. And you c

e library in silence, as they sat there. Scarl

e whispers of history, and now that the threads were b

anym