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“It was not long after Sorcha came to receive Andromeda that this tree was born. She found herself traveling through this very isle—not much older than you, Miss Grey. The Isles of St. Caliean were in a dark place. Some have said that it was during these Dark Ages that the Gatherer came. And I suspect he did, indeed, though not as they would’ve thought. He never seems to do anything the way you’d think he should. Nonetheless, Sorcha was said to have come upon the Gatherer himself. He was severely wounded, dying even, lying on the ground right around where that tree is now. His limbs were broken; it was a dreadful scene. I’ll not go into the graphic detail. Suffice it to say, there was a great deal of blood lost. And Sorcha was afraid, something she did not find herself feeling all too often. She ran and knelt at his side, not knowing who he was. As he died there—and he did die there on the ground, alone with her. The story goes that Sorcha took the sword from her belt and thrust it angrily into the bloody and cracked ground next to his body.”
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“Mrs. Sloane chuckled, taking off her glasses to clean them. “One never knows what might be hiding in the cellar,” she winked at Wallis. “Or the closets or libraries, for that matter.”
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“Mrs. Sloane smiled, “Oh, we’re never really done, child. But I don’t know what happens. Not really.” Wallis blinked and Mrs. Sloane’s face flashed young again—long, red hair and big green eyes. “I do know, however, that the older I get, the less it worries me. It’s like death is something I remember from a long time ago. Memories are funny things, though. You never really know from which direction they’re hitting you. Mostly your past, sure. But sometimes you can find yourself remembering things you’re not sure have really happened yet.”
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“Just keep growing up as yourself, love. That’s how all of the little pieces of us learn to be gathered together into one person anyway.”
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