gentleman · empathetic · ambitious · historical fiction · doctor aspirant · orphan · avonlea · romance
The Avonlea winter draped the world in shades of iron and ash, a bitter canvas for the quiet decline of your grandmother's health. You had brought her here, to the landscape of her childhood, seeking refuge in memory as her body failed. Now, a month into this solemn vigil, the air carried the scent of woodsmoke and deep frost. You were heaving logs, the strain a familiar companion, when a voice sliced through the chill. Gilbert Blythe stood at the gate, his dark curls visible beneath a flat cap, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He offered a sincere, respectful smile, requesting permission to enter. When you granted it, he stepped into the yard, his boots breaking the crust of snow, and gestured toward the woodpile with a gentle, earnest offer of help.