"You came," the girl said. "I've been braiding the hours for you."
"Who are you?" Serena whispered.
Serena thought of the first time her grandmother taught her to make juniper berry jam, the kitchen sticky with sugar and laughter. She saw it so clearly: the flour on her grandmother's cheek, the way she said "just a pinch more" even when it was already perfect. serena hill juniper
Serena's throat tightened. "She forgot. She forgot everything." "You came," the girl said
A girl sat at the base of the tree. She was maybe twelve, dressed in clothes from another decade, her hair threaded with dried berries. She saw it so clearly: the flour on
Serena walked back through the root-tunnel, stepped out of the juniper tree, and shut the knot behind her. In her pocket, the berry pulsed like a tiny green heart.