First of all - hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, filled with love and light!

Now! This chapter! I can safely say it's been two years in the making. On October 31st, 2022, I had the idea for a Halloween story. Naively, I thought I could finish it in just one day. Silly, silly me! Well, as you can guess I didn't manage to do it, and so it stayed in the drafts, waiting for the next year. And then another.

It was originally meant to be a one-shot set in the original timeline, my very first one! But as I started gathering ideas for this story, I realized a Halloween chapter would fit perfectly into the 1990 setting. So, I decided to adapt and rework my 1900 idea for this au instead (and add a little flashback). Of course, life happened (again), and I missed my October 2024 deadline. One thing led to another, and the chapter ended up sitting in my drafts (again!), waiting for its final edits while the follow-up chapters patiently stood in line. I even considered holding off until next Halloween just so I could keep going with the story!

But here we are, January 2025, and I hope you'll forgive me for posting this autumnal story in the middle of a snowy winter and all the waiting and changes were somewhat worth it.

Wishing you all the very best for the New Year!


"Goodbye, the loveliest of months! You were so enchanting this year, and I'll miss you dearly!" Anne called out to the world, her voice echoing across the garden from Green Gables porch. A silvery veil of mist, hanging heavy all day, swirled in the chilly air, and Anne waved as if bidding farewell to an old friend. She'd miss the splendor of golden afternoons, trees dressed in amber and crimson, and the satisfying rustle of leaves under her boots.

She sighed dramatically as she headed inside, slinging her school satchel on its hook by the door and heading straight to the kitchen to make some tea.

"Oh, Marilla, why do Octobers have to end?" she mused, washing her hands and setting the kettle on. "Why can't they just change straight into Decembers, wrapped up in sparkly snow and trimmed with frosty lace?" Anne gazed out the window, where bare branches tapped lightly against the glass, as she reached for the tea caddy. "Instead, we get miserable, wet, windy and dark Novembers. I wish we could just sleep through them, curled up nicely with a chipmunk, cuddled together in a burrow."

Two steaming cups in her hands, Anne entered the living room where Marilla was settled in her favorite chair, stitching quietly. She handed her a cup, and Marilla took a small sip.

"So, should I add a chipmunk to your ever-growing list of creatures you'd like to turn into?" she asked without looking up, before setting down her drink and getting right back to her work.

"Oh, definitely! Imagine the fun, climbing trees and admiring the whole world from way up there!" Anne said, curling up on the couch and tucking her feet under herself.

"I think you'll find chipmunks are more concerned with gathering food for winter than admiring the view," Marilla said dryly, tugging at a stubborn thread. "Anyway, you should be more concerned with schoolwork. Don't you have a geometry test coming up?"

Anne sighed, resigned. "Geometry feels like the enemy of all that is beautiful. I guess another advantage of being a chipmunk is that they don't have to worry about tests."

"Or detentions" Marilla snipped the thread, giving her a knowing look.

Anne felt her face turning red, memories of detention coming back hot and unwelcome. It'd been over a month, and yet Marilla hadn't let her forget Mr. Phillips' punishment. But she also hadn't spoken to Mrs. Andrews since.

Her first detention ever. Anne cringed just thinking about it. Two weeks stuck in the classroom after hours, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, Gilbert Blythe had been there for the first week, too.

That Monday, the room was dead quiet, every awkward second stretching like a piece of chewing gum. The big wall clock painfully slowly ticked away the minutes, while the fluorescent lights buzzed annoyingly overhead, casting a washed-out glow that made the room feel even more uncomfortable. Mrs. Bell sat at her desk, nose deep in a battered romance novel (how anyone could be that absorbed in a book about stationery was beyond Anne). Every so often, without even looking up, she would toss a half-hearted "shh" directed to no one in particular, then go right back to her page. Anne kept her head down, staring hard at her homework, but she could feel Gilbert's gaze on her. He wasn't even pretending to work. The weight of his attention was impossible to ignore, and her face burned under its fixation. After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned across the aisle, his movement cautious but deliberate, before he began to speak quietly, breaking the silence.

"Anne… I know you hate me now. And I totally deserve that. But could you at least let me explain?"

She kept her eyes stubbornly on her work, her pencil scratching at the paper. "I don't hate you, Gilbert. I just don't care to hear any excuse you're about to make."

Gilbert exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as he spoke, his tone gentle. "I'm so sorry… for the name-calling. I hope you know I didn't mean to make fun of your hair… or anything about you." He hesitated, his voice dropping lower. "And for not standing up for you. I should've done better."

She felt her anger rise all over again. "Well, you didn't. So much for offering to slay dragons."

Gilbert flushed, his cheeks going pink. "I really am sorry, Anne. I thought… I hoped maybe we could be friends."

Anne whipped her head toward him, catching the pleading look in his eyes. For a brief moment, her own resolve wavered, caught off guard by the sincerity on his face. Her pencil stopped in midair, but she quickly pulled herself together, shaking her head before going back to writing.

"I will never be friends with you, Gilbert Blythe, and I don't want to be." She pressed down so hard that her pencil snapped in two.

The sudden crack echoed through the room, jolting Mrs. Bell from her book. She cleared her throat loudly. "I'd like to remind you both that there is no talking during detention."

Gilbert bent over his work with a defeated sigh, while Anne swept her hair over one shoulder like a curtain, blocking him out. She wanted nothing more than to be back in her bedroom, where she could shut her door and have a good cry. She kept looking up at the big clock on the wall, watching the minutes drag by, counting down to freedom.

The rest of the week was torture. They shared most of their classes, and it was clear that Gilbert was as determined to be at the top of the class as Anne was. Their classmates very quickly had given up trying to keep up, tacitly leaving it to them to fight it out over every point, every argument, every project. In detention, Anne took the front seat, and Gilbert, understanding her intentions, kept to the back of the room. She stayed fixed on her work, refusing to turn around, though she couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was watching her. Each day, she built her walls higher, but ignoring him was harder than she wanted to admit.

On his last day of detention, Gilbert stayed quiet for most of the time. But as the clock struck five, he gathered his things, stopped at her desk and placed a golden apple on top of her books.

"I know I can't change what I did. But I'm sorry, Anne. Truly," he whispered.

There was something about the way he said it, something in his eyes that made Anne falter, just for a second. But before she could say anything, he was gone, his words echoing in the silence. For a heartbeat, she felt something ache. But then she remembered everything that happened that awful Monday morning and enjoyed the feeling of satisfying anger burning inside her.

"I swear, I wanted to throw that apple at the back of his stupid head so much," she told her friend afterward as they walked home. "He may be handsome, Diana, but he's still just like the other idiots."

However, even as she said it, she could still feel a pang at the way he'd looked at her, his voice quiet, his words unfinished.

Anne blinked back to the present, suddenly aware of Marilla's watchful gaze. She shook off the drift of her memories, gripping her mug a little tighter before abruptly standing.

"Is it still okay for me to go trick-or-treating with Diana and Minnie May tonight?" she asked, the words spilling out in a single breath.

"Yes, just be sure to finish your schoolwork first. I'll be at Rachel's quilting party tonight, and the tea will be in the oven. Make sure Matthew eats it, would you? Otherwise, he'll spend the whole evening hiding out in the barn." Marilla pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Honestly, you two are so alike sometimes, always disappearing into your own little—" she glanced up and realized she was again alone in the room. "And she's gone. Well, let's hope at least one of you remembers to eat."

Anne was already halfway up the stairs, her satchel bouncing against her shoulder, her braid a fiery smudge of red. She darted into her room, letting the bag slip to the floor with a soft thud before flopping dramatically onto her bed. Above her, glow-in-the-dark stars twinkled faintly, patient witnesses to her frequent monologues.

"I finished all my work yesterday after school, and the geometry test isn't until next week," she declared to the cosmic audience. "Not that it'll matter much if Mr. Phillips keeps switching up the letters. I memorize the propositions, then he draws them on the board with completely different letters, like he's trying to sabotage me. Honestly, is alphabetical consistency too much to ask for in this world?"

Apparently, the Milky Way above her thought so. One plastic star detached itself dramatically and plopped onto her face with an unimpressive splat. Anne peeled it off with a huff, before flicking it onto her nightstand with an exaggerated sigh. She rolled onto her side, her gaze drifting to the bookshelf on the opposite wall. Her eyes skimmed the spines of her little collection, lazily reading the titles until they snagged on something familiar. She bolted upright, her heart skipping a beat.

The old Scottish book Diana had lent her last summer stood slightly out of place, its leather cover worn but still gilded at the edges. Anne crossed the room in a flash, pulling it from the shelf and flipping through the delicate pages with an eager urgency. The paper was yellowed, the ink slightly faded, but she found what she was looking for in moments.

"Samhain," Anne whispered, her fingertips brushing over the word as if it might disappear. Her eyes sparkled as she read on, the excitement building in her chest.

"Samhain?" Diana raised her eyebrows as she chewed on a Mars bar she had swiped from Minnie May's candy haul. "You're telling me this is a thing?"

"Yes!" Anne couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. "Tonight is the night when the veil between our world and the Otherworld is at its thinnest. It means the spirits can cross over Diana! It's this ancient Gaelic festival, people used it to honor the dead and ask for protection through the winter. Isn't that amazing?"

"Uh-huh. And this will somehow protect me from Josie Pye's snarky comments for the next six months?"

"Metaphorically, maybe! But we'll be protected from real bad vibes. Trust me."

Diana turned toward Minnie May, who was still hanging around someone's porch, hand deep in a candy bowl. "Minnie May, enough! Say thank you and move on, we don't have the whole evening!" Then, lowering her voice to Anne, she added, "Are you sure this won't land us in trouble? I mean, the whole Haunted Woods thing didn't exactly end well."

"This is totally different!" Anne assured her, practically bouncing on her toes. "We'll have lanterns to ward off bad spirits, salt for protection, and food to leave for the fairies. If we honor them, they'll watch over us through the winter. And, I don't know, maybe kidnap Billy Andrews."

Diana's expression shifted, curiosity edging out her doubt. "Okay, so what do we need? Minnie May, don't bother going to the Sloanes, they only give out licorice."

"Bring food and drink for the feast. I've already made salty bread for us to eat at the end. And don't forget a lantern, some salt, and a disguise so no spirits can recognize us!" Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she ticked off the list.

"I'll call the other girls when we get back. No point trying to tell them anything now with Miss Radar Ears over here."

"What was that?" Minnie May piped up, glancing over her shoulder suspiciously.

"Gillis' over here! House!" Diana replied smoothly, gesturing ahead with a dramatic flourish. "Ruby's house is next and they always have full-size chocolate bars." Then, turning back to Anne, she asked, "What time are we doing this?"

"'When the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won,'" Anne laughed. "Around eleven, just like Beltane. That way, everyone else will be asleep, and we can sneak out. I'll be waiting by the Dryad's Bubble."

"So, food, drinks, salt, a lantern, and a disguise. Anything else?"

"Apples! We'll need apples and a knife to peel them."

Diana raised an eyebrow. "Apples? Seriously?"

"We're about to discover our destiny, Diana. Tonight isn't just about candy, it's about fate!"

Convincing Minnie May to call it a night hadn't been easy, but reassuring her that her candy stash would last all the way until Christmas finally did the trick. With one last huffy sigh, she gave in, leaving Anne and Diana to arrange the last details. The girls exchanged an excited hug before parting ways - Diana heading back to Orchard Slope to spread the word among the group, careful not to draw her mom's attention or tip off her nosy little sister, while Anne raced toward the Dryad's Bubble. She gathered sticks and branches for their bonfire, carefully clearing a patch of ground and surrounding it with stones she found nearby. Satisfied with her setup, she sprinted back toward Green Gables, making a quick stop at the barn.

Sure enough, there was Matthew, as always, quietly absorbed in his work.

"Hello, Matthew! I'm back!" Anne called out, leaning into the barn doorframe. "Marilla left some tea in the oven. Shall I warm it up for us?"

"Well now, I suppose I could use a break," Matthew said, straightening and wiping his hands on a rag. "Would you mind fixing it up in the kitchen? I'll be along shortly."

"Not at all! I'll have everything ready for you,"

Back at home, Anne set the tea on the stove to warm and quickly began laying out the plates. A moment later, Matthew came in, and together they settled down at the table. Over dinner, they talked about the harvest, Matthew sharing his plans now that the fields were finally clear.

"Speaking of food, do you know if we have any turnips stored anywhere?" Anne asked, trying to sound casual.

"Well now, most of what we grew got shipped off, but there should be a few left in the cellar. Are you thinking about cooking something up?"

"Oh, no, not cooking. It's for… a little project." She knew Matthew wouldn't press further - he never did when she had one of her "projects."

After dinner, when their conversation about the school wound down, they cleared the table together, putting away the leftovers. Matthew headed back to the barn to finish his work, while Anne went to the pantry. From there, she gathered a bottle of cordial, a tin of cookies, shortbread, and Marilla's fruitcake, the same one they had baked together just last week. Down in the cellar, she found russet apples and a good-sized turnip, tucking them into a basket. She added a pinch of salt, a candle, matches, and a small knife from the kitchen. On her way to her room, she grabbed a few odds and ends from Marilla's darning pile, giggling at the thought of how they would be used for her disguise.

For a moment, Anne considered that maybe, just maybe, she was getting carried away.

Then again, wasn't that the whole point of Halloween.

Once in her room, Anne got to work. Carving a lantern out of the turnip was more difficult than she had anticipated, but she managed in the end, then turned her attention to fashioning a costume. The basket, now filled with supplies, was hidden behind the door. She paused as she heard the familiar sound of Marilla arriving home. Voices carried upstairs, Marilla's firm and Matthew's gentle, blending into a comforting hum. Soon, they both wished each other goodnight, and Anne's heart fluttered with anticipation. She knew Marilla always checked in on her before going to bed, so she made sure to look convincingly tucked in when the door creaked open. Once Marilla's footsteps faded down the hall, Anne waited until the house grew still and once she was sure everyone was asleep, she slipped out of bed, put on her disguise and signaled Diana with a flashlight, waving a piece of cardboard in front of the beam five times. Avoiding the creaky floorboards with practiced precision, she picked up her basket and tiptoed out of her room.

Outside, the cool night air nipped at her cheeks as she hurried across the field, her torch sweeping through the shadows ahead. The scent of pine and damp earth filled her lungs, and Anne inhaled deeply, a thrill coursing through her, mingled with the tiniest sliver of fear. The ancient magic of the night seemed alive around her.

Reaching the meadow near the old log bridge by the spring, she set down her basket and moved to the pile of wood she had prepared earlier. Striking a match, she carefully coaxed the flames to life. Warm light flickered across the clearing as she lit her turnip lantern. Then she waited, mesmerized by its eerie glow, shadows dancing around her.

One by one, her friends emerged from the trees, wrapped in scarves, hats, and mismatched outfits. Diana showed up first, grinning under the light of her makeshift lantern. Ruby was next, holding a flashlight covered in Halloween stickers. Jane and Tilly came right after, whispering excitedly, and then Josie Pye wandered in last, looking as uninterested as ever.

"She was at Jane's when I called her," Diana whispered with an apologetic shrug.

Ruby shivered as she caught sight of Anne's turnip lantern. "That thing is so creepy, Anne!" she exclaimed, backing away from the fire.

Anne laughed. "It's supposed to be! Turnips were the original jack-o'-lanterns before people started using pumpkins. We need it to scare off the bad spirits."

"Bad spirits?" Ruby's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Mrs. Lynde says calling spirits is a sin!"

"Oh, Ruby… You're spoiling the effect! Besides, this tradition started centuries before Mrs. Lynde was even born. And we're not calling bad spirits; we're keeping them away. That's what the salt is for!"

"Alright," Ruby muttered. "But keep this vegetable away from me!"

"First things first," Anne announced, "let's put together our feast for the spirits."

The girls gathered around the fire, unpacking sweet treats, fruit, and drinks from their homes. They placed everything on a flat stone that Anne and Diana often used as a picnic table. One by one, they made little offerings, repeating a chant Anne had made up on the spot:

"Spirits, fairies, hear our call,

Come to join us, one and all,

By this fire, warm and bright,

Protect us through the darkest night."

Once that was done, the girls settled around the fire. "So, what now?" Jane asked, looking at Anne expectantly.

"In the book, they used ale to honor Seonaidh, the sea god."

"Are we really supposed to believe you've got beer in that Little Red Riding Hood basket?" Josie asked, smirking.

Anne didn't flinch. Locking eyes with Josie, she replied smoothly, "No, but those with imagination will know this cordial will do just fine."

Kicking off her boots, she stepped barefoot to the edge of the spring, the cold water lapping at her toes. She held a bark cup filled with the drink high in the air and declared, "Seonaidh, god of the sea, accept our offering! Bless us during the dark months ahead!"

Her voice echoed over the quiet meadow, mixing with the crackle of the flames and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. She tipped the cup, letting the liquid splash into the water, then turned back to the group, an impish grin lighting up her face.

"Let's feast!"

The girls laughed as they shared their treats, tossing crumbs onto the ground for goodwill to the unseen forces around them. Warmed by the firelight and the thrill of the night, Anne suddenly jumped to her feet, her eyes gleaming. She grabbed Diana's hand, pulling her into a spin around the flames. One by one, the others joined in, their lanterns swaying as they danced. Shadows stretched and twisted across the clearing, the outside world melting away in the magic of the moment.

Anne's voice rose above the crackle of the fire as she began to chant:

"Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Double, double, toil and trouble,

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble!"

The others picked it up, repeating the lines, their words and rhythmic stamping of their feet echoing through the meadow. When they finally collapsed in a breathless heap of giggles, Anne grinned at them, her hair a wild halo in the firelight.

"Now," she said, catching her breath, "for some divination! Did everyone bring their apples?"

The girls took turns peeling their apples, carefully trying to make the longest unbroken strip. Then, on the count of three, they tossed the peels over their shoulders, craning their necks to see what letter of the alphabet they had formed - supposedly the first letter of their future spouse's name. Lanterns in hand, they leaned in to inspect the shapes illuminated by the firelight.

"Josie, stop messing with your peel, it's not gonna spell DiCaprio!" Tilly rolled her eyes.

"Do we even know anyone whose name starts with a 'W'?" Ruby whined, squinting at the jagged strip on the ground.

Jane tilted her head. "Mine looks like a dollar sign!"

"That means you'll marry Scrooge McDuck!" Diana shot back.

"Mine's definitely a P," Tilly was happy with that.

"You've got two Pauls in our class to choose from," Jane pointed out. "Which one's your destiny?"

Tilly smirked. "I'll need to try both now then, won't I!"

Anne crouched down to examine her own apple peel, her brow furrowed. "Does this look like an O to you?" she asked Diana. Her best friend leaned closer, a sly grin spreading across her face.

"It's curling here… I'd say it looks more like a 'G.'"

Anne flushed, shaking her head. "It's a C! Definitely a C! For... Christopher, or Cole, or—"

"Charlie!" the girls shouted in unison before collapsing into another fit of laughter.

Their faces glowed as they teased and joked, trading playful guesses about their future loves. As the fire began to dwindle, Anne handed out small loaves of oatmeal bread. "One last tradition," she said, handing each girl a tiny loaf. "We must eat it in three bites, then go to bed without drinking anything or talking to anyone. Tonight, we'll dream of the one who will offer us a drink to quench our thirst."

With that, they said their goodbyes, ate the breads, and snuck off toward their homes. The meadow fell silent once more, the magic of the night lingering in the air.

It was late; much later than Anne had planned to stay out. Her breath puffed in quick, frosty wisps as she hurried toward Green Gables, the dense canopy of trees above her casting jagged shadows on the ground. The bare branches twisted like skeletal fingers, reaching out as though to ensnare her. Every sound seemed amplified: the rustling of leaves, the low hoot of an owl, the wind keening through the trees. Or was it a wailing cry? Anne shivered, remembering that this was the time of night when the white lady was said to walk along the brook, wringing her hands in agony, searching for something lost. Her skin prickled, and she couldn't help but glance toward the darkened bank, half-expecting to see the ghostly figure gliding toward her.

A sharp crack behind her made her spin around, the flashlight slipping from her hand and thudding onto the ground. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The ghost of a murdered person, she thought, her imagination conjuring a vivid image of icy fingers brushing against hers. Or worse - the headless man, stalking the woods, his shadow lurking just out of sight, waiting for her to turn around.

Get a grip, you're not eleven anymore, she scolded herself, bending to pick up the flashlight. She tried to turn it on, but it wouldn't work. Ignoring the knot forming in her stomach, Anne pulled her hat lower and quickened her pace, straining to see the path in the inky darkness, her heart hammering in her chest. The wind rustled through the trees, and she could have sworn she heard faint whispers - or was that cackling? Her steps quickened to a jog.

Anne didn't see the figure ahead of her until it was too late. She collided with something, stumbling backward and dropping her basket.

"Please don't hurt me! I have salt, and I'm not afraid to use it!" she blurted, raising her hands in a desperate gesture.

Her fingers, however, found something unexpectedly real: soft flannel over broad shoulders, solid under her palms. Instead of icy, spectral hands, she felt warm ones wrapping around her waist, steadying her before she could fall. And then came the unmistakable sweet scent of melted butter and caramel, so human and mundane that her fear dissolved in an instant.

"Anne? What in heck are you doing here?"

She blinked, her breath catching as she looked up. Gilbert Blythe stood before her, his face bathed in pale moonlight. His hazel eyes were wide with confusion, a faint smile curving his lips, and - oh no - that dimple! The one she hadn't been able to stop thinking about since detention.

Time seemed to pause as she took in every detail: the way his messy curls framed his face, the way his breath formed little clouds escaping his parted lips, and that scent, warm and sweet, that made her want to curl up on the couch under a cozy blanket and watch a movie. It was so unexpected, so out of place in the eerie woods, that it felt like another kind of magic entirely. For a moment, the world around her stilled. The ghost stories, the shadows, even the distant rustle of leaves faded into nothing. All that remained was this maddening boy who somehow managed to ground her even as he made her head spin.

Then reality crashed in. Anne's eyes widened in horror as she realized she had spoken! She clapped her hands over her mouth, yanking them from his shirt as if burned, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. She stepped back, and the cold rushed in where his warmth had been just seconds ago.

"You! Again!" she huffed, snatching up her basket. "You've ruined everything!"

"Ruined what?" Gilbert asked, utterly baffled.

Anne spun on her heel, running away with the speed of Atalanta, determined to escape both him and her spiraling thoughts. Her cheeks burned, though whether from anger or embarrassment, she couldn't tell.

"Anne! Wait up!" he called, jogging to catch up. "Ruined what? What are you even talking about?"

She ignored him, leaving him standing in the shadows as she hurried through the gates of Green Gables. In her haste, she didn't notice something drop from her basket, glinting like a shooting star in the grass. Gilbert bent to retrieve it. An apple, golden, with a soft sheen that made it look almost enchanted. He turned it over in his hand, frowning slightly before slipping it into his pocket.

He sighed, watching Anne's retreating figure disappear into the house. For a moment, he stood there, thinking of all the things he might have done differently - at Ruby's party or on that catastrophic first day at school. Then, shaking his head, he turned and walked home. Too tired after work to chase after mysteries or girls who couldn't stand his presence.

Back home, Anne slipped into her room, careful not to wake anyone. She set her basket down and placed a glass of water she got from the kitchen on her nightstand, beside the faint glow of a star sticker. Her body was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't stop replaying the events of the evening.

Gilbert. His eyes, his dimple, the way he smelled like warm caramel, the- oh, for heaven's sake! She yanked the quilt over her head, desperate to banish the memory and fall asleep.

Suddenly, Anne found herself standing in a moonlit garden. Towering birches with silvery bark stretched toward the sky, their luminous trunks sparkling in the soft light. The air was thick with the heady scent of roses mixed with the sharp tang of fir trees from a grove behind a little house nestled at the garden's center.

She noticed a gate hanging between two trees, like an entryway to another world. Down the lane, two rows of Lombardy poplars swayed gently in the breeze, their slim silhouettes whispering secrets. The brook meandered through a corner of the garden, its banks edged with poppies, their petals glowing red. Smooth, milk-white shells bordered the flower beds, their opalescent surfaces shimmering faintly.

Anne wandered slowly, her breath catching at the beauty around her, when movement drew her eye. A tall silhouette emerged from the shadows, dark hair catching the faint gleam of moonlight. The figure moved with easy grace, holding something in his hand that glinted faintly.

"Where are you, my dryad?" the voice called, soft, warm, and somehow achingly familiar.

Anne's pulse quickened, her breath hitching as the figure drew closer. There was something magnetic about him, something that made the rest of the world dim until only he remained. She stepped forward instinctively, straining to make out his face.

Just as she was about to call out, a sudden noise startled her. She spun around, her nerves taut, but there was nothing, only shifting shadows. And then, cool glass pressed against her hand, pulling her back.

The garden dissolved in an instant, and Anne found herself wide awake, sitting upright in her bed and clutching the glass of water she had left on her nightstand. She stared at it, the dream lingering on the edge of her mind. Roses. Glowing poppies. That voice. If only she could have seen his face!

"Ugh! Gilbert Blythe, you've ruined everything!", she flopped back onto her pillow with a groan, the stubborn sweet scent lingering in her mind.


This chapter was brought to you by quotes from Anne of Green Gables (both the book and the 1985 series), Anne's House of Dreams, Macbeth and a little bit of Greek mythology. I do like a story with an apple in it, don't you?