Lucia stood in the garden, her hand brushing lightly against the velvety petals of a rose as she replayed the strange encounter in her mind. The lady who had approached her last night—Miranda, she had called herself—felt both foreign and familiar, like a shadow from a past life she couldn’t remember. The garden was a place of refuge for Lucia, a space where she could gather her thoughts, yet today, it only served to deepen her confusion.
Miranda had seemed shocked when Lucia didn’t recognize her. The woman’s expression had flickered between disbelief and concern, but Lucia couldn’t pinpoint why. Who was she? How did she know her name, and why did her presence unsettle Lucia so deeply? The more she thought about it, the more Lucia felt as though she was on the verge of recalling something
