It was a time before, a time of laughter, of scraped knees and sticky fingers, of Sunday sunshine and stories that lingered long after bedtime. A time of family. Emily Troupe stood on the dandelion-speckled grass in the backyard of her grandfather's house, her small frame vibrating with anticipation. The summer wind tugged gently at the hem of her shirt as she rocked on her heels, clutching a stick in her hand like it was Excalibur. Her eyes, wide and bright, were endlessly curious, following her grandfather's every move with reverence. He was crouched behind the overgrown, yellowing shrub that lined the side of his modest home, where the garden had once been tame but now bloomed like a wild spell. Her parents had dropped her off, same as every Sunday, before heading off to the grocery store. It was a ritual by now, her favorite day of the week. The day she and Grandpa Raymond would continue the great adventure that never really ended, only paused between visits. Emily was like most eight-year-olds, limitless in energy, insatiably curious, with scraped elbows and untied laces. She did well in school, but anyone who truly knew her could tell you there were only two things in the world she truly loved: her sketchbook... and her Grandpa. With her free hand, she brushed her unruly brown curls out of her face, tucking a lock behind her ear with practiced annoyance. She hated her hair, called it a "bushy monster", so she always kept it tied back in a ponytail. Today, a few rebellious strands had broken free, fluttering like tiny banners in the warm breeze. The sun was especially bright, and it made her freckles pop against her fair skin, dusting her cheeks like cinnamon.
