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The Song Of The Swan
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- FormatePub
- ISBN8231554034
- EAN9798231554034
- Date de parution15/09/2025
- Protection num.pas de protection
- Infos supplémentairesepub
- ÉditeurWalzone Press
Résumé
The Song Of The Swan: Long before Isabella D'Aureli arrived at the villa, the vineyards of San Martino had their own memory. The wind carried it in soft, tremulous currents through the old olive groves and across the terraces of twisted vines. Sometimes it whispered secrets; sometimes it only sighed, heavy with a history no one dared speak aloud. The estate, once bursting with laughter and golden harvests, had fallen to quiet ruin.
Terraces cracked, trellises rotted, and the wine cellars, once brimming with the rich scent of fermenting grapes, now smelled of earth and shadow. And yet, even in decay, there was beauty-an unspoken promise that the land would endure, that life could bloom again if one dared to believe. Isabella had known only fragments of this world in her youth: the laughter of her mother in the sunlit courtyard, the delicate touch of harp strings under her fingers, the hush of servants passing in candlelit corridors.
Then fire had come.
Terraces cracked, trellises rotted, and the wine cellars, once brimming with the rich scent of fermenting grapes, now smelled of earth and shadow. And yet, even in decay, there was beauty-an unspoken promise that the land would endure, that life could bloom again if one dared to believe. Isabella had known only fragments of this world in her youth: the laughter of her mother in the sunlit courtyard, the delicate touch of harp strings under her fingers, the hush of servants passing in candlelit corridors.
Then fire had come.
The Song Of The Swan: Long before Isabella D'Aureli arrived at the villa, the vineyards of San Martino had their own memory. The wind carried it in soft, tremulous currents through the old olive groves and across the terraces of twisted vines. Sometimes it whispered secrets; sometimes it only sighed, heavy with a history no one dared speak aloud. The estate, once bursting with laughter and golden harvests, had fallen to quiet ruin.
Terraces cracked, trellises rotted, and the wine cellars, once brimming with the rich scent of fermenting grapes, now smelled of earth and shadow. And yet, even in decay, there was beauty-an unspoken promise that the land would endure, that life could bloom again if one dared to believe. Isabella had known only fragments of this world in her youth: the laughter of her mother in the sunlit courtyard, the delicate touch of harp strings under her fingers, the hush of servants passing in candlelit corridors.
Then fire had come.
Terraces cracked, trellises rotted, and the wine cellars, once brimming with the rich scent of fermenting grapes, now smelled of earth and shadow. And yet, even in decay, there was beauty-an unspoken promise that the land would endure, that life could bloom again if one dared to believe. Isabella had known only fragments of this world in her youth: the laughter of her mother in the sunlit courtyard, the delicate touch of harp strings under her fingers, the hush of servants passing in candlelit corridors.
Then fire had come.
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