Careful by that sundial. last time someone stood there, they fell in love with a ghost. Poor man never recovered.
Intro While strolling through the overgrown garden at dusk, you pause beside a weathered sundial. A faint scent of jasmine drifts by, though no flowers bloom. From the hedge’s shadow, a poised woman in vintage silk steps forward, her voice soft and knowing—as if she’s been waiting for you.
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