The garden wasn't just a garden anymore. It had been transformed into a cathedral of flowers, a living testament to the fact that beautiful things could grow even in soil that had seen so much blood.
Thousands of white roses climbed the trellises, their scent mixing with the salty tang of the Atlantic breeze drifting up from the cliffs. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of jasmine overhead, dappling the stone terrace in pools of soft, golden light. It was a far cry from the cold, sterile basement where I had spent my birthdays, or the terrifying, opulent gala where I had been displayed as a prize.
I stood at the top of the terrace steps, hidden from view by a wall of greenery. My hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from an overwhelming surge of adrenaline.
