Chapter 4 — Golden Hour Reflections

Iris

The morning light seeped through the lace curtains of the Vale House, painting dappled patterns over the dining table where Iris sat hunched over her Whispering Pines Sketchbook. The scent of coffee mingled with the faint tang of turpentine, a familiar comfort that filled the quiet space. Her moss-green sweater slipped off one shoulder as she worked, her pencil tracing the page in slow, deliberate strokes.