The Whisper of the Forgotten Garden

Elspeth knelt in the soil, her fingers sinking into the damp earth. The peonies bloomed before her, their petals heavy with scent. She leaned close, her voice a whisper: "I’m still here." The garden answered. A breeze rustled the leaves. A bee hummed past. The vines on the crumbling walls seemed to tighten, as if embracing her. She had outlived the others—the ones who’d called this place home. But the garden remembered. It always did.