This sounds like something from a Pat Rothfuss novel.
It nourished a memory behind a tiny locked door in her heart.
This reminds me of that sequence from Pan's Labyrinth.
“Once upon a time, an amaranth and a rose grew side by side in a garden just like ours…”
She loved her mother’s stories. They were nothing like her father’s, which were all about swashbucklers and cowboys.
She loved her mother’s stories. They were nothing like her father’s, which were all about swashbucklers and cowboys.
It was the moment the sun dipped below the trees and began to wink away beyond the edge of the world.
