The next morning, the manor whispered of rain, though none had fallen.
Elowen woke early, stirred not by light, but by a weightless feeling—like something important was waiting, quietly, just beyond the trees.
By the time she stepped outside, Amara was already there, leaning against the crooked post where their cloaks hung. She wore her blue shawl, frayed at the edges, with bare feet on dew-kissed grass.
"You couldn't sleep either?" Elowen asked softly.
Amara shook her head. "I kept thinking about the tree."
"The Wish Tree?"
Amara nodded. "Do you believe it grants them?"
Elowen tilted her head. "Wishes?"
"No," Amara said, glancing toward the horizon. "Truths."
They didn't speak as they made their way down the winding trail, past the sleeping glade, where mushrooms glowed faintly at the roots of the ash trees. The forest was still, holding its breath as if it, too, waited for something sacred.
The Wish Tree stood at the edge of the world.
That's what the elder girls used to say.
It was older than memory, with bark like cracked marble and leaves that shimmered silver even in shadow. Little ribbons and paper scraps hung from its branches—old wishes, weather-worn, forgotten and fading.
Amara reached out and touched the trunk.
"Do you remember what you wished for?" she asked, not looking back.
Elowen hesitated. "I never told anyone."
Amara turned to face her. "You don't have to."
But Elowen stepped forward. "I will."
She laid her palm against the tree, her voice low.
"I wished for someone to stay. Not because they had to. But because they wanted to."
Amara's breath caught.
Elowen turned to her, the hush of the woods wrapping around them.
"What did you wish for?"
Amara's voice was barely there. "To feel whole."
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the bark.
"I've always felt like a broken thing. Like I was stitched together by someone else's dream. But lately…" She opened her eyes, meeting Elowen's gaze. "I feel like I'm real. And it scares me."
Elowen stepped closer, and the wind shifted through the leaves—soft, almost like laughter.
"You are real," Elowen whispered. "And you don't have to wish for it anymore."
Amara smiled, just a little. "Still scared."
"Me too," Elowen admitted. "But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you."
Silence fell again, but it wasn't empty. It was full of meaning, of breath, of all the little things they hadn't said but somehow knew.
Then Amara pulled a ribbon from her pocket—sky blue, like her shawl—and tied it gently to one of the lower branches.
She didn't write anything on it.
Neither did Elowen, who added a piece of soft lilac cloth from her sleeve.
They didn't need words.
The tree knew.
And in that moment, so did they.
As they turned to walk back, Amara reached for Elowen's hand—not by accident, not out of fear—but with quiet certainty.
And Elowen didn't let go.
Behind them, the Wish Tree rustled softly, as if giving its blessing.