October 13, Sunday

THE ROOSTER'S shrill cock-a-doodle-doo pierced the early morning fog, dragging me from a fitful sleep filled with dreams of Sawyer's kiss. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. But the persistent bird wouldn't be ignored.

"All right, all right," I muttered, dragging myself out of bed. "I'm coming."

I shuffled downstairs, still in my pajamas, and grabbed the bucket of feed. The cool grass tickled my bare feet as I made my way to the chicken coop. Butterscotch, my favorite hen, clucked softly as I approached.

"At least someone's happy to see me," I grumbled, tossing out handfuls of feed.

The chickens swarmed around my feet, pecking enthusiastically. I watched them for a moment, envying their simple existence. Eat, sleep, lay eggs. No complicated feelings, no mysterious pasts, no earth-shattering kisses followed by inexplicable rejections.

A loud bleat reminded me of my other charge. I turned to see Satan the goat glaring at me from his pen, clearly offended by my chicken-first policy.

"Don't give me that look," I said, heading over with an armful of hay. "You know, for a demon, you're awfully needy."

As if to prove my point, Satan headbutted my leg affectionately as soon as I was within reach. I scratched behind his white ears, earning a contented noise that was somewhere between a purr and a bleat.

The rumble of an approaching vehicle made my heart skip a beat. I looked up to see Sawyer's familiar truck rolling by, heading towards the Whisper Graveyard. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I felt a jolt of electricity even from this distance.

He kept going, leaving me with a jumble of emotions and a goat trying to eat my pajama bottoms.

"Oh no you don't," I scolded, extracting the fabric from Satan's mouth. "These are my good PJs. You know, the ones with only three holes."

I'd given up on maintaining nice clothes within a few days of arriving at Whisper House.

I made my way back to the house, my mind swirling with thoughts of Sawyer. The memory of our kiss in Rose's workshop played on repeat, followed by the crushing disappointment of his sudden departure.

Instead of heading to the graveyard as I usually would, I grabbed my laptop and settled onto the porch swing. If I couldn't make sense of my feelings in real life, maybe I could work them out through my characters.

Lady Amelia's quill flew across the page as she penned a letter to Lord Stonecraft:

My dearest Logan,

Your kiss has set my heart aflame, yet your sudden coldness leaves me chilled to the bone. What secrets lie behind those stormy eyes of yours? What shadows from your past keep you from embracing the love that blooms between us?

I poured my confusion, my longing, and my frustration into the words, letting Lady Amelia voice all the things I couldn't say to Sawyer. The pages flew by as I wrote, the fictional world providing an escape from the complexities of my real one.

Hours passed in a blur of keystrokes and emotion. The sun had begun its descent when the sound of Sawyer's truck pulling me from my writing trance. I looked up to see him slowing down as he approached the house, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought he might stop.

Our eyes met again, and I saw a flicker of... something. Regret? Longing? But then he pressed on the gas, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.

I watched his taillights disappear down the road, a hollow feeling settling in my chest. With a sigh, I turned back to my laptop, where Lady Amelia awaited her happily ever after. But as I stared at the screen, I realized that Lady Amelia's story had taken an unexpected turn. Instead of pining away for Lord Stonecraft, she was packing her bags, prepared to uncover the truth behind his mysterious behavior.

I smiled, feeling a spark of determination. Maybe it was time for this graveyard girl to do a little investigating of my own.