Elara’s hands shook as she reached for the bow. The knot was impossibly tight. The voice whispered: You’ll go back to being nobody. No one will see you.
She found the old oak tree again, drawn there by a pull she didn’t understand. Underneath it sat the girl from the bench—the one she’d ignored. Only now, the girl wasn’t crying. She was smiling, holding a small velvet box. red hair bow
She yanked. A strand of hair pulled loose, and the bow came free. The red satin seemed to gasp—then went still, just a limp scrap of fabric in her palm. Elara’s hands shook as she reached for the bow
Walking home, she passed a girl on a bench. The girl was crying—shoulders shaking, face buried in her hands. Elara felt a tug to stop, to ask what was wrong. But the bow pulsed warm against her neck, and a quiet voice inside said: Keep walking. You’ve earned your good day. No one will see you