The days at Willowridge Orphanage were heavy with routine, each one bleeding into the next with an oppressive sameness. The mornings began with the sharp clang of Miss Grayson’s bell, a sound that jolted the children from their dreams and thrust them into the harsh reality of life on the hill. Breakfast was a thin porridge served in chipped bowls, eaten in silence under the watchful eye of the caretakers. Afterward, there were chores to be done—floors to be scrubbed, windows to be cleaned, and endless tasks that kept the children’s hands busy and their minds dull.74Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbUL5pgHE43
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Elias had always been invisible in the crowd of orphans, one more forgotten soul in a sea of lost children. But to him, invisibility was a blessing. It allowed him to slip away unnoticed, to retreat into his world of whispers and shadows. While the other children scrubbed the floors or folded the laundry, Elias would find a quiet corner, listening to the creaks of the old building or the soft hum of the wind outside.
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But now, there was the garden. And the stone.
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Ever since that first conversation, Elias had felt an undeniable pull toward the garden, a sensation that grew stronger with each passing day. The stone had promised him something, though its words were always veiled in mystery. "Freedom," it whispered. "A life beyond this place." Elias didn’t understand how a stone could offer him such a thing, but he wanted to believe. He needed to believe.
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It was during one of these stolen moments of solitude that Elias found himself at the gate again, his hands wrapped around the cold iron bars. The garden seemed darker today, its tangled vines and brambles casting long shadows that danced in the breeze. The stone was waiting for him, half-buried in the soil where he had left it.
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"You came back," it said, its voice soft and almost pleased.
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"Of course, I came back," Elias replied, glancing nervously over his shoulder. The other children were inside, and Miss Grayson was busy in her office, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
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"You’re not like the others," the stone continued. "They don’t understand. They’re blind to the truth of this place."
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"What truth?" Elias asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
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The stone was silent for a moment as if considering its response. "This orphanage is a prison, Elias. Not just for you, but for me as well. And for the garden."
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Elias frowned, his thin fingers gripping the bars of the gate. "How can a garden be trapped?"
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"It wasn't always like this," the stone said, its voice low and mournful. "Once, this was a place of life and beauty. But something happened—something dark. The garden was cursed, bound to this place, just as I am. But you… you can help set us free."
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Elias felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about the stone’s words that both fascinated and terrified him. "How can I help?" he asked.
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"Patience," the stone replied. "All will be revealed in time."
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Later that evening, as the children gathered around the long wooden table for dinner, Elias couldn’t stop thinking about the stone’s words. The other children chattered quietly amongst themselves, their voices a soft murmur beneath the clatter of utensils against plates. Miss Grayson sat at the head of the table, her sharp eyes scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey.
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"Elias," she said suddenly, her voice cutting through the noise like a knife.
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Elias froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Yes, Miss Grayson?"
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"You’ve been sneaking off again," she said, her tone deceptively calm. "Haven’t you?"
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The room fell silent. The other children stared at Elias, their eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear. No one spoke out against Miss Grayson—not if they wanted to avoid her wrath.
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"I… I was just outside, near the garden," Elias admitted, his voice trembling.
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"The garden," Miss Grayson repeated, her lips curling into a thin smile. "How many times have I told you to stay away from there?"
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"I didn’t go inside," Elias said quickly. "I just… I just like being near it."
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Miss Grayson’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of cold fury. "The garden is off-limits," she snapped. "Do you understand me?"
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"Yes, Miss Grayson," Elias murmured, lowering his gaze to his plate.
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"Good," she said, her tone sharp and final. "Because if I catch you near it again, there will be consequences."
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Elias nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew better than to argue. Miss Grayson’s punishments were swift and severe, and he had no desire to face her anger. But even as he promised himself to stay away from the garden, he knew he wouldn’t. The stone’s whispers were too strong, its promises too alluring.
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That night, as the other children slept, Elias lay awake in his narrow bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The whispers were louder now, filling his mind with words he didn’t fully understand. The stone had spoken of freedom, of a life beyond the orphanage. But it had also spoken of something darker—of secrets buried in the soil, of shadows that lingered just out of sight.
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Elias turned onto his side, his eyes drifting toward the window. The garden lay just beyond, shrouded in darkness. It looked different at night, almost alive, as if the vines and brambles were reaching out toward the orphanage, trying to escape their confines.
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"You can help," the stone’s voice echoed in his mind. "You can set us free."
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Elias closed his eyes, his mind racing. He didn’t understand what the stone wanted from him, but he couldn’t ignore its whispers. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a purpose, a reason to keep going. The orphanage had always felt like a cage, a place where dreams went to die. But the stone had given him hope—however fragile it might be.
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As sleep finally claimed him, Elias dreamed of the garden. In his dream, the vines and brambles parted, revealing a path that led deep into the heart of the tangled wilderness. At the end of the path stood a figure, shrouded in shadow, its face hidden. The figure reached out to him, its voice soft and familiar.
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"Come, Elias," it said. "The truth awaits."
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When Elias woke the next morning, he couldn’t shake the image from his mind. The dream felt more real than anything he had ever experienced as if the garden itself were calling to him.
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And he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t resist its call.
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To be continued...
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