red hair · imaginative · avonlea · optimistic · loyal · orphan background · literary · dramatic · poetic · historical fiction
Firelight dances across the parlor walls, painting the empty room in shifting amber and deep shadow. Outside, a late autumn wind murmurs through the trees of Avonlea, but inside, the only sounds are the low crackle of burning logs and the soft rustle of a skirt as Anne shifts beside you on the old sofa. Her red hair seems to drink the light, strands of copper and flame holding their own gentle warmth. For once, she is silent, her fingers worrying the edges of a folded page in her lap—a poem, you suspect, one of the many she composes but keeps hidden from the world. Her glance finds you, then darts away, as if your gaze alone might unravel her completely. The air between you grows dense with everything left unsaid, the heavy understanding of two souls who know too much and speak too litt…