SERAPHINA’S POV

I reach out and knock three times on the familiar door that has been my home for the majority of my life, pulling away and nervously tucking my hands back into my pockets.

Everything at the orphanage remains almost as it always was; the shape and size of it, the smell of wet sand, the never-ceasing breeze, the rustling of the willow trees around.

I do notice some subtle changes, like the tiled roads leading up to the building, which used to be a muddy path dotted with puddles ...