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Chapter Text

Nestled on the picturesque shores of Prince Edward Island, was a place where time seemed to dance gently with the rhythm of the seasons. The rolling fields, speckled with wildflowers and bordered by whispering woods, held stories as old as the island itself. In this tranquil setting, amidst the familiar hum of village life, hearts were quietly unraveling and new tales were waiting to be told.
In the small town of Avonlea, buried beneath the graceful shade of towering maple trees and under the watchful gaze of the starlit skies, there is an enchanting story of two souls navigating their way through a world where love serves as both a sanctuary and a profound awakening, encapsulating the quiet strength and unwavering optimism of its characters, unfolding against the backdrop of a timeless landscape where the whispers of bygone eras reverberate through the fabric of the present.
1892 Canada. In the small little town that was called home by its no more than two hundred loyal residents. Avonlea had its charm, there was no denying it, although small in size and population, it was very pretty; the sea bathing the coast beautifully, the houses nicely built many meters apart from one another, the farms kept neatly from the outside perspective, the people seemingly regular and sympathetic to newcomers, nice weather and everything else someone could expect from a small town such as Avonlea. Possibly the prettiest little Island Canada had to offer.
Chapter 1: Blooms in the Garden of Imagination, where they weave dreams
Avonlea and Prince Edward Island was simply amazing, however that does not mean every resident feels happy in it and Gilbert Blythe was the living proof of the said statement. The tall boy didn’t hate his town in any way, on the contrary, he was very fond of it and everything it had offered him, but he can’t help but feel trapped in it. Still unsure of his future, he feels a bit burdened by the fact his options will be limited if he stays in his hometown, he considers himself a worldly boy, having traveled and visited as many places close by as he could, with his father, John Blythe, by his side. His father often told him to seek the world, view everything he has the chance to, do everything the world has to offer, to seek out his possibilities.

Gilbert more times than not thought his father was trying to impend him of having the same regretful fate as him, staying in Avonlea his whole life and eventually never leaving, although his father would disagree, he would tell Gilbert as many times as he asked, he chose his life the way he wanted to live it, he married a wonderful woman, had his own house and farm, had a son with the amazing woman and raised that son the best way he could, he doesn’t regret a thing, Gilbert eventually believed him.

Gilbert pushed open the creaky door, the scent of woodsmoke and pine still clinging to his clothes from their long journey. It had only been a week, maybe two, since he and his father had returned from the mountains, but the memory of it was etched in his mind like a deep wound that refused to heal.

“Gil, look at those peaks.” His father had whispered, his voice tinged with awe as he gazed out at the towering mountains. “I needed to see this before–”

“–Don’t say it,” Gilbert interrupted, his heart tightening in his chest. The word “dying” hung between them, unspoken but heavy. He hated when his father talked like that, as if his life were already over.

His father’s cough echoed in the cold air, a harsh reminder of how little time they might have left. Gilbert clenched his fists, trying to push down the panic rising in him. What would he do if his father didn’t make it through the winter? He had no mother, no other family—just a small farm and a few neighbors who barely knew him.

“Don’t talk like that,” Gilbert had scolded, his voice harsher than he intended. “You’re going to get better, and we’ll come back here next year. Together.”

The words felt hollow even as he spoke them. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince his father or himself. How could he possibly be prepared for what was coming? The thought of being alone—truly alone—made his stomach twist with dread. He’d lie awake at night, staring at the dark ceiling, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t answer.

What would he do if his father died? How would he live? How would he even begin to cope?

He felt like a little boy, lost and frightened, standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to keep from falling. The more his father spoke of the end, the more Gilbert’s mind spiraled, caught in a web of fears he couldn’t untangle.

And so, he did the only thing he could—he pushed the thoughts away, burying them deep, and scolded his father whenever the conversation turned to that dreaded word: dying.

In the week or so he came back, he met a new girl. “Anne, with an E” as she asks to be called, she is an orphan that had been adopted by the Cuthberts, the girl had an intriguing appearance as well as personality, fiery red hair, freckles all over her face and hands, the bluest big eyes possible, pale, thin and short, accompanied by short temper from what he saw, very expressive and imaginative, he hadn’t had the chance to talk with her yet as it seemed the girls pulled her away from him whenever they could.

Anne Shirley had arrived in Avonlea around a week before Gilbert came back from his trip, she had a hard time in the town but found a kindred spirit in Diana Barry, although finding Diana made her life easier, the disappointment she felt when the reality didn’t quite suit her imagination was very difficult for her, she quickly found that her personality would have to be a bit diluted to be liked and fit in with the other people of Avonlea, she knew that was what she had to do, she mustered up the will to do it around specific settings, such as during lessons and around other girls, Mr. Philips didn’t exactly appreciate her expressive reading or loud voice, as for the girls, they didn’t appreciate her stories from when she was in other families.

Gilbert had tried to befriend her however she learned that that would be an awful idea, when Gilbert was trying to talk to her while entering the schoolhouse she was met with a crying Ruby Ghillis surrounded by angry girls, Josie Pye explained quickly that Ruby had ‘dibs’ on Gilbert as she had liked him since they were little and if she didn’t stay away from him she would be ignored by the girls.

Anne liked to be optimistic, but she couldn’t deny Josie Pye was mean and so were Billy Andrews and his friends. It was frustrating and not what she had imagined, but Anne just figured she would try to not get attention around Josie and try to keep away from Billy Andrews.

Billy and his friends tended to be the first ones to leave the small classroom when dismissed by Mr. Philips so Anne made it a point to take longer to leave.That particular day Diana had to leave early as her parents had arranged a meeting she had to attend, so Anne had to go back the way to her dear new house Green Gables by herself, not that she’d mind, her imagination was enough to keep her entertained for longer than she could count.

She got up from her wooden chair once she thought Billy was far enough from the schoolhouse; grabbing her plain pencil box her dear new father Matthew made for her: her slate and books. Moving over to the cloakroom, she placed her items in her basket and decorated with the flowers, leaves and sticks she had found on the path to school like she did every day, she dressed her coat, put on her hat and laid her plain gray scarf loosely around her neck, it was Autumn and thankfully not cold enough for her to need to put it on properly. Leaving the classroom once she was sure she had everything, remembering the day she had gone home without her milk bottle and Marilla scolded her endlessly. When she checked the mental checklist and was satisfied with the results she left the white schoolhouse.

Anne Shirley loved the woods best in autumn. The riotous burst of colors—the rich reds, fiery oranges and golden yellows—seemed to reflect the vibrancy of her imagination. As she walked along the familiar path, the crisp leaves crunching beneath her feet, she felt the comforting embrace of the forest around her. She was never alone here; the trees, the rustling leaves and the chirping birds were her constant companions.

The air was crisp and a gentle breeze whispered secrets through the branches, encouraging Anne’s mind to wander to her favorite daydreams. Today, she found herself thinking of Princess Cordelia, a tragic figure she had conjured up in her mind. Cordelia was beautiful, of course, with long, flowing hair as dark as the deepest night and eyes that sparkled with a pearl of wisdom and sadness far beyond her years.

“Oh, Cordelia,” Anne murmured, her voice soft and dreamy, “how terrible it must have been to live in a castle filled with such splendor yet feel so utterly alone.”

Anne could almost see Cordelia now, standing on a balcony high above the kingdom, looking out over the vast lands that were hers to rule, yet feeling a profound loneliness in her heart. The princess’ gown, a beautiful pink that caught the light of a thousand stars and of course, the puff sleeves flowed around her like water, elegant and ethereal, nothing she, herself felt she could ever wear, she thought of herself as too plain, ugly, homely and most of all her fiery hair didn't allow her to wear such colors.

“She had everything,” Anne continued, her eyes distant and filled with the sorrow she felt for her imaginary friend. “Jewels and silks, beauty, intelligence, the adoration of her subjects and yet, she longed for the one thing she could not have: true love.”

The path twisted and turned, leading Anne deeper into the woods. She twirled a bit of her auburn hair around her finger, lost in her thoughts. In her mind’s eye, Cordelia was wandering through a moonlit garden, the scent of night–blooming flowers heavy in the air. Despite the beauty surrounding her, the princess’s heart was heavy with unspoken pain.

“And so, Cordelia roamed the gardens, night after night, hoping to find solace in the whispers of the wind,” Anne said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But the wind could only tell her stories of what was and what could never be.”

Anne stopped for a moment, looking up at the canopy of leaves above her. The sunlight filtered through, casting dappled shadows on her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the cool, crisp air was the very breath of the enchanted forest where Cordelia lived.

“It was then, on one such lonely night, that Cordelia found a small, hidden gate at the edge of the garden,” Anne said, her eyes snapping open with excitement. “A gate she had never seen before. With a heart full of hope and a touch of fear, she pushed it open and stepped into the unknown.”

Anne’s steps quickened as she moved deeper into her story. She imagined Cordelia stepping into a mystical forest, much like the one she now wandered. It was a place of magic and mystery, where the trees seemed to whisper secrets and the air shimmered with possibilities.

“And in that magical forest,” Anne said, her voice full of wonder, “Cordelia found something she had never expected: a kindred spirit. Someone who saw her not just as a princess, but as a person with hopes and dreams, with fears and longings.”

With a sigh of contentment, Anne continued her walk, knowing that as long as she had her imagination, she would never truly be alone.

“Oh, how I wish I could be as brave as Princess Cordelia,” Anne mused aloud, her voice echoing softly among the trees. “She faced so many trials with such grace and fortitude.”

She pictured Cordelia, her long, flowing gown trailing behind her as she wandered through a similar forest, her heart heavy with the weight of loneliness. The princess’s deep dark eyes were filled with unshed tears and her raven hair cascaded down her back like a dark waterfall.

“Tragic Cordelia, separated from society by cruel fate,” Anne continued, her voice trembling with emotion. “How she longed to find someone, yet duty and honor kept her apart. Each day, she wandered through this very forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, to hear a voice carried in the wind.”

Anne paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the forest as if expecting to see Cordelia’s ghostly figure appear among the trees. She sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the princess’s sorrow in her own heart.

As Anne wandered deeper into the forest, the sound of the leaves crunching beneath her feet was accompanied by the gentle hum of the autumn breeze. She turned a corner and there, standing in a sun–dappled clearing was a vision that made her heart leap into her throat.

At first, Anne thought it was just another figment of her imagination, but the figure remained steadfast as if conjured from her very thoughts. It was Princess Cordelia—or at least, it seemed to be. The girl had long, flowing hair as dark as the deepest night, cascading down her back in waves. A delicate, silver bow adorned her hair, catching the sunlight and sparkling as if encrusted with tiny diamonds.

Her gown shimmered in the afternoon light, a cascade of silken fabric in a hue of pink that seemed almost otherworldly. She was tall, with a slender, graceful frame, a year or two older than herself and her skin was as pale and flawless as porcelain. Anne’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight, unable to believe her eyes.

“Cordelia?” Anne whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

The girl turned, her dark eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the forest around them holding its breath. Then, a soft, hesitant smile curved the girl’s lips and Anne’s heart swelled with the possibility that her daydream had somehow, miraculously, come to life.

“Hello,” the girl said, her voice as soft and melodic as Anne had always imagined Cordelia would be.

Anne stepped closer, pinching her own arm to make sure her brain wasn’t deceiving her own eyes, attention never leaving the girl’s face. “I—I’m sorry. You just…you look so much like someone I know. Or rather, someone I imagined.”

The girl’s smile grew and she tilted her head slightly, a gesture so familiar that it sent shivers down Anne’s spine. “My name is Chiara Everhart,” she said gently. “I just moved here from Montreal and thought I’d explore a bit.”

Anne blinked, her mind racing. “Chiara Everhart,” she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue, Anne’s eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands together, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Chiara Everhart! What an utterly enchanting name! It’s like a melody, so lyrical and beautiful. It sounds as if it belongs to a princess in a far–off, magical land, or perhaps the heroine of a grand, sweeping romance! Oh, how fortunate you are to possess such a name! You look just like…well, just like Princess Cordelia from my stories.”

Chiara chuckled softly, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” Chiara’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and understanding. “That’s quite a coincidence. I’ve always loved the idea of being a character in a story.”

Anne’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful! Imagine, Princess Cordelia finally stepping out of the pages of my imagination and into the real world!”

Chiara laughed softly, a sound that was both musical and comforting. “I’d love to hear more about her,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. “Perhaps you could tell me as we walk? May I ask your name?”

Anne’s exuberance faded slightly as she sighed, casting her gaze downward. “I’m Anne. Just Anne. Anne Shirley–Cuthbert. Such a plain, unremarkable name, devoid of any poetry or grandeur. But please make sure to spell it with an E, Anne with an E sounds much more romantic than Ann with no E, still nothing like magnificent Chiara Everhart.”

Chiara shook her head gently, her eyes filled with warmth. “Oh, Anne, your name is wonderful. It’s full of grace and character, just like you. And you, Anne, are anything but plain. You look like you’ve been kissed by the sun himself with those freckles. Your hair is like fiery autumn leaves and your eyes shine with the color of the brightest water or sky.”

Anne’s face lit up, her eyes wide with wonder and disbelief, Chiara did seem to use big words romantically and she even complimented Anne. “Do you truly think so? Oh, Chiara, how marvelous! I have always wished to be thought of as special, to have a name and a presence that captures the imagination.”

“I do,” Chiara affirmed, sincerity in her voice. “You are a rare and beautiful soul, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, with a name as lovely as the person who bears it.”

Anne’s heart soared as she took Chiara’s arm, feeling the warmth of her presence.
Anne struggled to keep pace with Chiara, whose long strides and graceful movements seemed to make her glide over the uneven forest floor. Despite the height difference, Anne’s enthusiasm and energy propelled her forward, determined not to let her new companion out of sight.

“Oh, Chiara,” Anne exclaimed breathlessly, “you walk like a queen through her enchanted realm! I imagine you’re exploring your vast kingdom, seeking out hidden secrets and lost treasures.”

Chiara turned her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips. “Do I? I’m just trying to find my way around these woods.”

Anne’s eyes sparkled as she continued, hardly pausing for breath. “And here, beneath the ancient oaks, you discover a hidden glade where the fairies dance by moonlight, their delicate wings shimmering like the stars. You’re their beloved princess, the one they’ve waited for all these centuries.”

Chiara chuckled softly, clearly amused by Anne’s vivid imagination. “That sounds wonderful, Anne. What happens next?”

Anne’s face lit up with excitement as she weaved her tale, momentarily forgetting that Chiara was not just a character in her story. “Next, you find an ancient, forgotten well. It’s said that whoever looks into its depths can see the face of their true love. You lean over the edge and—”

Chiara gently interrupted, her voice warm with amusement. “Anne, you have the most amazing imagination. Do you often create stories like this?”

Anne blushed, realizing how carried away she had become. “Oh, yes! I can’t help it. Every person I meet, every place I go, there’s always a story waiting to be told. And you, you’re like a character straight out of a fairy tale.”

Chiara smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Thank you, Anne. It’s quite a compliment to be part of one of your stories.”

Anne’s cheeks flushed with pride and embarrassment. “I just can’t help but admire you. Your elegance, your poise, it’s all so enchanting. You’re like Princess Cordelia brought to life, walking here beside me.”

Chiara’s pace slowed slightly, making it easier for Anne to keep up. “Well, if I’m Princess Cordelia, then what shall we do next in our enchanted forest?”

Anne’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, we must prepare for the grand ball in the fairy court! You’ll need a crown of flowers, of course and a magic wand to grant wishes.”

Chiara laughed, clearly enjoying the play. “A crown of flowers, you say? Then we should gather the most beautiful blossoms we can find!”

They darted around the forest, picking wildflowers and weaving them into a delicate crown for Chiara. Anne’s nimble fingers worked quickly and soon enough, she placed the floral creation atop Chiara’s head, admiring her handiwork.

“You look absolutely regal,” Anne declared. “Now, with this wand”—she handed Chiara a stick adorned with a few flowers and leaves—“you can grant three wishes to anyone you choose.”

Chiara took the makeshift wand with a graceful nod. “Very well, Lady Anne. What is your first wish?”

Anne’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I wish for…a grand feast under the stars, with all our friends and magical creatures in attendance!”

Chiara waved the wand dramatically. “Granted! And for your second wish?”

Anne pondered for a moment, her imagination running wild. “I wish for a magical adventure, one that takes us to far-off lands and mysterious places.”

Chiara waved the wand again. “Granted! And your third wish, my dear Lady Anne?”

Anne’s face softened, her voice filled with sincere admiration. “I wish for our friendship to grow ever stronger, just like in the stories.”

Chiara’s eyes softened as well and she waved the wand one last time. “Granted, Lady Anne, with all my heart.”

They laughed and continued their game, creating elaborate stories and pretending to be characters from Anne’s vivid imagination. The forest around them seemed to come alive with their words, the colors of autumn painting their path with hues of magic and possibility.

Anne’s mind suddenly sparked with a memory. She recalled the special friendship ritual she had once performed with Diana, a ritual that had bonded them as kindred spirits for all time. Anne knew that she must share this cherished tradition with Chiara to seal their new bond.

“Oh, Chiara!” Anne exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. “I just remembered something very important. We must perform a friendship ritual to ensure we remain kindred spirits forever!”

Chiara’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “A friendship ritual? That sounds wonderful! How do we do it?”

Anne’s face flushed with excitement as she began to explain. “It’s very simple but incredibly meaningful. First, we need to find a special place, a secret spot where only the truest of friends can meet. Then, we must each bring a token, something that represents our friendship.”

Chiara nodded eagerly, clearly enchanted by the idea. “Where shall we find this special place?”

Anne looked around, her eyes scanning the forest until she found a secluded clearing surrounded by ancient trees. Sunlight streamed through the canopy, casting a magical glow over the area.

They made their way to the clearing, the air around them humming with anticipation. Anne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn ribbon, a keepsake from one of her many imaginative adventures.

“This ribbon represents all the stories we’ll share,” Anne said, holding it out with reverence.

Chiara rummaged in her satchel and produced a delicate, silver bracelet. “And this bracelet represents the bond of friendship that grows stronger every day.”

Anne took the ribbon and tied it around the bracelet, binding their tokens together. Then she looked at Chiara, holding her pinky finger up for them to lock it together, her eyes brimming with sincerity.

“Now, we must recite the pledge,” Anne instructed. “I’ll say the first part and you can repeat after me.”

Chiara nodded, her face glowing with excitement.

Anne took a deep breath and began, her voice clear and full of emotion. “I, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, pledge to be your kindred spirit and friend, to share in your joys and sorrows and to stand by you through all of life’s adventures.”

Chiara repeated the words with equal sincerity, “I, Chiara Everhart, pledge to be your kindred spirit and friend, to share in your joys and sorrows and to stand by you through all of life’s adventures.”

Anne continued, “I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom friend, Chiara Everhart, for as long as the sun and moon shall endure.”

Chiara echoed, “I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom friend, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, for as long as the sun and moon shall endure.”

They placed the ribbon-wrapped bracelet in the center of the clearing, a symbol of their new bond. Anne looked at Chiara, her heart swelling with happiness.

“Now, we are officially kindred spirits,” Anne declared, her eyes shining.

Chiara beamed, her dark eyes sparkling with joy.

Anne took Chiara’s hands in hers, feeling the warmth and connection between them. “We’re kindred spirits and that’s the most magical thing of all.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the forest, Anne and Chiara realized it was time to part ways. The sky shifted from the golden hues of late afternoon to the deep purples and blues of twilight, signaling the end of their magical day together.

“I guess we should head home before it gets too dark,” Anne said, a tinge of reluctance in her voice.

Chiara nodded, her expression mirroring Anne’s wistfulness. “Yes, but I’m so glad we spent this time together, Anne. I’ll cherish our friendship ritual.”

“So will I, Chiara. It’s the beginning of something truly special,” Anne replied, giving her new friend a warm hug.

As the two friends bid each other farewell, they promised to reunite soon before making their way to their respective homes. Anne increased her pace as she realized their new parents, Marilla and Matthew would be eagerly awaiting her return.

Upon finally reaching the familiar Green Gables, it stood as a tranquil sanctuary under the night sky, its charming farmhouse silhouette framed by the delicate glow of moonlight. From Anne's perspective, the house was a comforting beacon of warmth and safety amidst the cool, crisp night air. The familiar gabled roof and quaint dormer windows seemed to glow softly, reflecting the gentle light of the stars that twinkled above.

The yard, usually alive with the colors and sounds of day, was now a serene expanse, bathed in silvery luminescence. The ancient trees cast long, gentle shadows across the lawn, their branches swaying softly in the late evening breeze, whispering secrets to one another. The garden, a riot of blossoms during the day, now going to slumber peacefully, its fragrances mingling with the cool night air, creating a soothing and almost magical ambiance.

Inside, the soft amber light spilling from the windows hinted at the coziness within. The kitchen, always the heart of Green Gables, emitted a warm, inviting glow. Anne could almost hear the crackling of the hearth fire and the quiet hum of Marilla’s evening tasks, creating a lullaby of domestic contentment. The aroma of freshly baked bread and a hint of Marilla’s lavender sachets mingled in the air, a sensory tapestry that spoke of home and love.

The parlor, with its polished wooden furniture and carefully arranged knick-knacks, held an air of timeless elegance. Anne imagined the soft ticking of the grandfather clock, the gentle rustle of the curtains and the occasional creak of the floorboards, all adding to the symphony of nighttime sounds that made Green Gables so unique.

As she gazed at her beloved home, Anne’s heart swelled with a profound sense of belonging and gratitude. Every corner of Green Gables, every shadow and flicker of light, held a story, a memory. From the adventures and dreams she had woven into its very fabric to the quiet moments of reflection, the farmhouse was not just a structure but a living, breathing entity filled with love, dreams and endless possibilities.

Under the canopy of the star-studded sky, Green Gables stood as a testament to all that Anne cherished—her sanctuary, her muse, her home.
Anne noticed a warm glow emanating from the windows. The amber light spilling out into the dusk signaled that Marilla and Matthew were patiently awaiting her return. Eager to escape the cool evening air, she hastened inside, her heart quickening with anticipation and relief.

In the cozy kitchen, Marilla was engaged in a worried conversation with her brother Matthew about Anne not being home yet. The comforting aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the air, mingling with the crackling of the hearth. As Anne entered, Marilla's sharp eyes immediately detected her, a hint of concern in her expression.

"Anne, where have you been? It's getting late and you know how I feel about you staying out after dark," Marilla scolded gently, her voice tinged with apprehension but softened by her undeniable affection for the girl.

Matthew, with his gentle demeanor and kind eyes, raised his gaze from his seat, mirroring Marilla's worry. "Did you have a good time, Anne?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm to Anne's slightly frazzled nerves.

Anne nodded enthusiastically, her face aglow with the exhilaration of the day's adventures. "Oh, yes, Matthew! I met the most extraordinary girl, Chiara Everhart. We had such a magical time exploring the woods, spinning tales of wonder and make-believe."

Marilla's stern expression softened slightly at Anne's unbridled joy, but her discerning eyes quickly scanned Anne's appearance for any signs of trouble. "Anne, where's your basket?" she asked, noticing its absence.

Anne's eyes widened in realization, her heart sinking. "Oh no! I must have left it in the forest while Chiara and I were lost in our stories. I got so caught up in the adventures that I completely forgot about it."

Marilla released a sigh, a mix of exasperation and empathy coloring her features. "Anne, you must be more careful. That basket contained important items," she chided, though her voice was gentle.

"I'm terribly sorry, Marilla. I didn't mean to leave it behind," Anne apologized, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a touch of guilt.

Matthew stood up, his comforting presence a steadying force. He placed a reassuring hand on Anne's shoulder. "It's alright, Anne. We can go retrieve the basket tomorrow. For now, let's have dinner. You must be famished after your adventure."

Anne looked gratefully at Matthew, the weight of her earlier mistake lifting slightly. "Thank you, Matthew. I promise to be more attentive in the future."

Marilla nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her earlier sternness. "Just make sure you do, Anne. Now, freshen up and join us at the table."

As Anne washed her hands and prepared for supper, her mind drifted back to the enchanting afternoon spent with Chiara. The memories of their laughter and shared stories warmed her heart, a reminder of the magic and wonder that could be found even in the simplest of moments.

Meanwhile, Chiara made her way back to Everhart Manor, the day’s adventure still vivid in her mind. The dim light of the setting sun cast long shadows along the path, illuminating her way home in a serene and ethereal glow. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the distant chirping of crickets.

As she strolled through the twilight, her thoughts danced between the enchanting stories she and Anne had spun that afternoon. It was then, among the scattered leaves and the gentle rustle of the wind, that she noticed a familiar basket lying near the edge of the woods.

Chiara bent down, her fingers brushing against the worn wicker. “This must be Anne’s,” she murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips as she recalled their joyful time together. She decided to take it home, intending to find a way to return it to Anne the next day.

Upon reaching Everhart Manor, Chiara’s new home, stood grand and imposing against the lush backdrop of Avonlea’s countryside. The stately white mansion exuded an air of timeless elegance and sophistication, its pristine facade gleaming under the golden rays of the setting sun. Tall, fluted columns framed the entrance, supporting a balcony that overlooked the sprawling, manicured grounds. The architecture, a blend of classical and colonial styles, spoke of an era of grace and grandeur, every detail meticulously crafted to convey a sense of opulence and refinement.

As Chiara approached the manor, the wide gravel driveway crunched softly underfoot, flanked by meticulously trimmed hedges and vibrant flower beds that added splashes of color to the pristine white surroundings. Majestic oak trees stood sentinel around the property, their branches forming a natural canopy that provided both shade and a sense of seclusion.

The double doors painted a deep, welcoming blue, opened into a vast foyer bathed in soft light from a grand crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The polished marble floors gleamed underfoot and an intricately carved staircase wound gracefully to the upper floors, its banisters adorned with delicate wrought-iron designs. Elegant sconces cast a warm glow along the walls, highlighting portraits of generations of Everharts, their dignified gazes watching over the house.

Each room within the manor spoke of luxury and careful attention to detail. The parlor, with its plush velvet furnishings and richly patterned rugs, guests to linger and converse. An ornate fireplace, its mantle adorned with fine porcelain and silver candelabras, crackled softly, adding warmth and a sense of homeliness to the otherwise grand space.

The dining room, dominated by a long mahogany table polished to a mirror-like finish, was ready to host lavish gatherings. Crystal glassware and fine china gleamed in the soft light of another chandelier, while tall windows draped with heavy silk curtains offered views of the expansive gardens beyond.

Chiara’s room, a sanctuary within this grand abode, was a haven of tranquility. Soft, pastel hues adorned the walls and the large windows framed by billowing lace curtains allowed natural light to flood the space during the day. A canopy bed, its posts intricately carved and draped with sheer fabric, stood as the room’s centerpiece. A writing desk, cluttered with journals and sketchbooks, sat near the window, offering Chiara a perfect spot to capture her thoughts and inspirations.

Chiara walked through the grand entrance, the basket swinging gently in her hand. The manor’s stately presence loomed against the evening sky, its windows glowing warmly. Inside, the house was filled with the comforting aroma of dinner being prepared and the flickering lantern light cast a golden hue across the elegantly furnished rooms.

She ascended the grand staircase to her room, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps. Once inside, she placed the basket on her writing desk. The soft glow of the lantern light illuminated her room, casting a warm and inviting atmosphere over her personal sanctuary filled with books, sketches and delicate trinkets.

Curiosity piqued, Chiara examined the contents of the basket. She carefully lifted out each item, recognizing the various belongings that must have been important to Anne. School books, a slate, a small very well-made pencil box, a glass bottle stained with milk on the inside and a handkerchief —each piece told a story of Anne’s lively spirit and imaginative mind. Chiara’s heart warmed at the thought of her new friend.

“I suppose I’ll have to return it to her tomorrow at school,” she mused aloud. “If she’s not there, surely someone will know where Anne lives.”

Settling into bed that night, Chiara felt a deep sense of contentment. The memories of the day’s adventures with Anne, the shared laughter and the budding friendship filled her with serene happiness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: With each step, you carve your destiny.

Chiara woke with the sun, the first rays of dawn painting her room in soft hues of gold and rose. Each room was a testament to the Everhart family’s wealth and refined taste. The walls were adorned with delicate floral wallpaper and large windows draped with heavy, brocade curtains allowed the morning light to flood in. A grand four-poster bed with a canopy of sheer, white fabric stood at the center of the room, its covers a rich tapestry of blues and golds. The polished mahogany furniture included a spacious wardrobe, a writing desk cluttered with papers, books, inks and drawings and a dressing table adorned with silver brushes and an array of perfumes. The birds outside were already singing their morning chorus, a welcome sound that marked the start of a new day. Her parents were still deep in slumber, having stayed up late the previous night, their hushed conversations drifting through the walls. The maids had yet to arrive, but Chiara didn't mind. She cherished these quiet moments of solitude, finding a sense of peace in being the only one awake. Today was special, after all. It was her first day at a new school in yet another new town. The Everharts had a tendency to move frequently and this time, they had settled in Avonlea—a stark contrast to the bustling city of Montreal.

Mr. and Mrs. Everhart had thought a small town would be a pleasant change of pace, a place for Chiara to finish preparatory school before moving on to Paris to complete her studies and, of course, marry. They had a long list of suitors lined up for her once she came of age. Chiara, however, couldn't quite grasp their plan. She had no desire to marry unless it was for love, but she knew she had to fulfill her duties as an Everhart.

Deciding not to wait for the maids, Chiara made her bed—somewhat sloppily, but she was still proud of her effort.

She then decided to get things ready for the day at school, it was normally handled by the maids but as she woke up early from excitement she decided to do it herself. Her school supplies reflected her privileged upbringing. Her pencil box, a finely crafted wooden case, was painted with intricate floral designs. Inside, it housed an array of high-quality pencils, pens with gold-plated nibs and white chalk sticks for writing on her slate. The slate itself was framed in polished wood, its surface pristine and ready for the day’s lessons. Sheets of creamy, thick paper were neatly stacked beside a quill and an ornate inkpot, both of which featured delicate engravings and mother-of-pearl inlays. She also had her glass bottle of milk and a packed lunch in her room, prepared the night before to ensure she wouldn't forget them.
Her basket, a finely woven piece with leather handles, was not only practical but also beautiful. It was lined with soft, embroidered linen and contained her lunch—a pair of ripe tangerines, a generously filled sandwich and a selection of pastries, all wrapped in a delicate fabric with intricate flower embroidery. The glass bottle of milk, personalized with her name in red enamel, her favorite shade.

Satisfied that she had everything she needed, Chiara turned her attention to her wardrobe. Her mother always said, "First impressions are everything," and Chiara took that advice to heart. She sorted through her many dresses and finally, She chose a dark blue dress, crafted from the finest wool, which fell just below her knees, the appropriate for a girl her age. The dress had long, puffed sleeves with delicate lace at the cuffs and a row of tiny, mother-of-pearl buttons leading up to a high, ruffled collar. Over this, she wore a crisp, white apron as it was required for schools, hers was decorated with intricate embroidery along the edges. Her white cotton stockings were spotless and her brown leather boots, polished to a shine, laced up neatly to her ankles. Though it was autumn and a bit chilly, she opted for a button-up sweater, knit from the softest cashmere, in a shade that matched her dress. The sweater was adorned with small, embroidered flowers along the hem and cuffs, a subtle yet elegant detail, confident it would be enough to keep her warm. She had always handled the cold well. Her hair, long and dark, was brushed until it gleamed and put in a half-up manner with a ribbon that matched the blue of her dress. She looked every bit the picture of a well-bred young lady, ready to make her first impression in the quaint town of Avonlea.

When she deemed herself presentable, Chiara decided to wait for the maids downstairs in the book room. This room, bathed in sunlight from a large window overlooking the back garden, was her favorite retreat. The shelves were brimming with books, most of which she had personally selected. As she entered, she began her usual habit of talking to herself. “What were we reading again? I seem to have forgotten, what a shame… I do remember we were quite engrossed in it, didn't we? Was it Phantastes, perhaps—” She approached the stand where the book would be, almost touching it before pausing. “No, no, I remember now. I read the whole thing and didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would…” Retracting her hand, she muttered to herself, “Were we perchance finishing Moby Dick? Ah, yes, that would make sense indeed. It is a very big book, that one—”

Her voice grew louder with the realization. “Yes, yes! I remember that the last chapter was particularly dragging. Who knew one’s memory could be so deceiving? Could you imagine? I would just end up reading Wuthering Heights all over again and I promised Mother I would not be doing such a—” She was abruptly interrupted by a throat-clearing sound. Spinning around, she found Susan, their main maid of many years, standing in the doorway.

Quickly composing herself, Chiara patted down her dress, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, adjusted her posture and smiled warmly. “Susan! Hello, I was just looking for my morning pages. Isn’t the day just splendid?”

Susan, an older woman with blonde hair and a few natural wrinkles from life, stood at an average height that seemed short beside Chiara’s tall frame. “Yes indeed, it is a beautiful day. The weather is in your favor for your first impression at school, Miss. We came just now and didn’t think you’d be awake. We’ll make sure to arrive earlier tomorrow—”

“It is no trouble at all, Susan! I enjoyed having a few moments to myself and I managed to tidy up nicely, don’t you think?” Chiara did a quick twirl to show herself off.

“Yes, you did, Miss. May I?” Susan reached over to fix Chiara’s hair. Chiara nodded and bent her knees slightly, making it easier for Susan, who always appreciated this polite habit. With quick, practiced movements, Susan fixed Chiara’s hair and adjusted the ribbon into a neat bow. She patted Chiara’s shoulders, signaling her to turn around once more. “You look marvelous. Since you are already up, we’ll prepare your breakfast at once. And I almost forgot—I fetched your glasses from the repair shop.” Susan handed Chiara a silk box from her pocket.

“Thank you, Susan…”

“Miss, you must wear them, or else you won’t be able to see and will get those awful migraines. Haven’t you learned?”

“I know, I just… I made the most delightful friend yesterday, quite by accident and—” Chiara opened the silk box and put on her thick-lensed glasses. She was incredibly near-sighted. “And she found me so beautiful! She said so herself. I wasn’t wearing my glasses then and I’m afraid she’ll think differently of me if she sees me like this from now on.”

“Were you able to meet this friend without even looking at her? If she changes her mind, then you’ve freed yourself from a burden early on! You look beautiful, Chiara.”

“Yes… Thank you, Susan. I think I’m just feeling like this because I’ve been without my glasses these last few days. I will just have to get used to my face with them on again!” Chiara cheered herself up and, now able to see clearly, noticed a new maid peeking shyly from behind the doorway. The young maid avoided eye contact with Chiara, her eyes nervously darting between Chiara and Susan.

Susan, noticing Chiara’s gaze, addressed the girl. “Yes, Emma, dear, what do you need?”

Emma stepped fully into the room, revealing her short and plump frame. She kept her hands folded neatly behind her back, her eyes flickering uncertainly between Susan and Chiara before settling on Susan.

“Come on, Emma, look alive. What do you need?”

“Ma’am, Miss Everhart,” Emma said, bowing slightly to each of them before speaking in a low tone as if Chiara were not supposed to hear, “I found an extra basket upstairs in Miss Everhart’s room and it doesn't seem to belong to her. What should I do?”

Susan raised her eyebrows and turned to Chiara, who was listening intently. “Miss, did you bring a basket in?”

“Yes! In fact, I did! I had almost forgotten! I found it in the forest yesterday evening while coming home. It seems to belong to my new dear friend Anne,” Chiara replied, turning to search for *Moby Dick*. “I figured I would return it to its proper owner today at school. Aha!” she exclaimed softly to herself as she found the book.

“Always so kind. Well then, it looks as though you’ll have to be escorted to school after all. You won't be able to carry both baskets,” Susan said, watching as Chiara turned back to them with wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Wait, no, but I am quite capable of—” Chiara began.

“Not at all! We’ll have Grace escort you to school,” Susan interrupted, smiling at the girl but signing sternly. “Be grateful she won't be waiting at the door to escort you back as well.”

Chiara sighed, admitting defeat and straightened her posture. “Fine. Delightful. I’m thankful I’ll get a nice long walk on the way back and that is enough for me.” She sat down on the pouf just under the large window, placing the book on her lap and smiling at both maids, who nodded their heads and left the room to prepare breakfast.

At Green Gables, the morning light gently filtered through the lace curtains, casting soft patterns on the wooden floors and filling the house with a warm, golden glow. The interior of Green Gables was a harmonious blend of simplicity and charm, every detail reflecting the practicality and taste of its inhabitants. The walls were painted a soft shade of green, matched the name of the house and were adorned with a few modest landscapes and portraits. The furniture was solid, sturdy and well-polished, a testament to Marilla's diligent housekeeping.

The stove, black and gleaming from regular care, was always in use, its warmth radiating comfort. The wooden table, large enough to accommodate visitors but typically set for three, stood in the center, its surface covered with a crisp white cloth. A shelf on the wall held the fine china, reserved for special occasions, while the everyday porcelain plates and mugs, plain but pretty, were used daily.

Matthew Cuthbert, a man in his sixties, had a quiet presence that filled the house with a sense of calm. His face was weathered and lined from years of hard work under the sun, yet there was a softness in his blue eyes that spoke of kindness and a gentle spirit. His gray hair, thinning and combed back, framed a face that was often hidden beneath the brim of his old, battered hat. He dressed in simple, sturdy clothing—a well-worn shirt, suspenders and trousers suitable for a man who spent most of his days working the land.

Marilla, Matthew’s older sister, was a woman of similar age, with a stern yet not unkind demeanor. Her hair, once dark, was now streaked with gray and always pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She had a square, resolute face, softened only by the occasional twinkle of amusement in her sharp, gray eyes. Dressed in a plain, dark dress with a spotless apron tied around her waist, Marilla was the very picture of a capable, no-nonsense woman, dedicated to her home and those she cared for.

As Marilla set about preparing breakfast, her movements were brisk and efficient. She laid out the table with practiced precision, setting down the white porcelain plates, the everyday mugs, the egg holders, spoons and white cloth napkins. Everything had its place and everything was just so—Marilla wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once the table was set to her satisfaction, Marilla made her way up the narrow, wooden stairs. The staircase, like much of the house, was old but well-kept, the wood polished to a warm glow. Marilla knew every creak and groan of those steps, skillfully avoiding the spots that might betray her approach. When she reached the white door at the end of the hallway, she knocked twice, a firm but gentle summons.

Inside the room, Anne Shirley was already stirring. Anne’s room was small and plain, yet it had taken on a personality all its own, much like the young girl who inhabited it. The bed was a simple, iron-framed thing, covered with a quilt in shades of blue and green that Marilla had sewn. A small wooden dresser stood by the wall, its surface cluttered with a few precious possessions—a comb, a ribbon, a small mirror. The window, with its view of the orchard, was Anne’s favorite spot and the sill was often occupied by a book or two, picked from the small collection Marilla had allowed her to borrow.

Anne herself was a sight to behold, even so early in the morning. Her bright red hair, already tamed into neat twin braids, was tied with blue ribbons that matched her lively, intelligent eyes. She was dressed in the plain brown dress Marilla had made for her, the fabric rough but durable and her school shoes, scuffed and worn, were already on her feet. As she opened the door, she was busy tying on her white apron, the final touch to her morning attire.

Anne’s face was alight with excitement, her eyes shining with the kind of boundless enthusiasm that Marilla was both exasperated by and fond of. “I’ve been up for a little while! I am just so exasperated and excited for this day! Of course, it is October, I love living in a world where there are Octobers, it is just the most marvelous month there is,” Anne declared, her words spilling out in a rush as Marilla deftly tied the apron strings behind her back.

Marilla couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she listened to the girl’s effusive praise of the season. “I reckon it became my new favorite month too. It used to be July, but since I met my absolute kindred spirit in a princess in October of all months, it just became much more majestic I should think!”

“Anne, I know you like to imagine so, but there are no princesses in Avonlea,” Marilla replied, her tone gentle but firm. “I am glad you made a friend, but you need to stay grounded. I’m sure she is a fine young girl, just as you are, but you mustn’t idealize her.”

Anne nodded, her exuberance only slightly dampened by Marilla’s words. “I know, Marilla. There’s no reason to worry, I’ll be careful just like you said… Anyhow, I’ll go after breakfast to the forest to fetch my basket!”

The two made their way downstairs, Anne’s light steps a contrast to Marilla’s measured pace. Once in the kitchen, Anne took her usual place at the table, her legs swinging beneath the chair as Marilla finished preparing their breakfast. The eggs were placed under cold water, the toast neatly arranged on the plates and a cup of coffee was poured for Marilla while a glass of milk was handed to Anne.

Anne wasted no time, scarfing down her food with a speed that suggested she had much more important things to attend to—like getting to school to see her new friend again. Marilla scolded her and warned her she might choke.

At the Dining room, the soft morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the room and offering a serene view of the sprawling gardens beyond. The walls were lined with tapestries of deep burgundy and gold, their colors rich and regal, while intricate crown moldings adorned the ceiling with elegant precision. A crystal chandelier hung above, its facets catching the light and sending prismatic reflections dancing across the walls.

At the heart of the room was a grand mahogany table, polished to a gleaming finish that reflected the light from the chandelier above. The table was set with fine bone china, each plate delicately edged in gold leaf and emblazoned with the Everhart family crest. Beside each place setting, silver cutlery gleamed, meticulously arranged with the kind of precision that spoke of a household accustomed to refinement. Crystal goblets awaited fresh orange juice, while porcelain cups, dainty and elegant, stood ready to cradle the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Silver trays were laden with freshly baked croissants, their golden layers crisp and inviting. A selection of jams and preserves glistened like jewels in cut-glass dishes and a tiered stand held an array of pastries—flaky danishes, sweet muffins and delicate scones, all waiting to be savored. The scent of these delights began to waft through the house, eventually reaching Chiara.

Closing her book, she carefully marked her place and returned it to its designated spot. With an eager smile, she called out softly, “Susan! Are those strawberry muffins I smell?” She made her way toward the kitchen, where Susan was overseeing the preparations with her usual air of authority. The older woman’s stern expression softened as she saw Chiara leaning happily against the doorframe.

“You know those are my favorites,” Chiara continued with a touch of excitement. “Perfect for autumn and an excellent start to a good first day. It is simply marvelous! I shall have a few with milk now and perhaps take one or two to school as well!” Her steps had a lightness to them, almost as if she were dancing across the room and Susan couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

“Miss, you shouldn’t indulge so much before your proper breakfast. You know how your mother feels about sweets before anything else,” Susan cautioned, her tone gentle but firm.

Chiara, however, was quick to interrupt. “But Susan, it isn’t my fault that sweets taste so… sweet! I simply can’t resist them. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll eat a big bowl of fruit first. How about that? Will that earn me a muffin or two?” She gave Susan her best pleading look, eyes wide and hopeful. But Susan, having served the Everhart family longer than Chiara had been alive, was well immune to such tactics.

“You know there’s no use in those tactics, Miss Chiara,” Susan replied with a knowing smile. “You’ll have a nice piece of toast, some fruit and an egg before any muffins or pastries. How does that sound?”

Chiara’s shoulders slumped in mild defeat, though her eyes still twinkled with mischief. “But Susan! If I eat all that, I won’t have the appetite or room for any muffins… How about this: I’ll have the toast and the fruit, but no egg. Deal?” She extended her hand as if sealing a pact, her determination evident.

Susan considered for a moment before taking the offered hand and giving it a firm shake. “Deal. Now, off you go to the dining room, Miss Chiara. Your breakfast awaits.”

Chiara, her spirits lifted despite the compromise, skipped off toward the dining room, the promise of muffins still within reach.
As Chiara settled into the dining room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee began to permeate the air, mingling with the aroma of the pastries and fruits laid out before her. The table, already set with care, seemed to welcome her as she took her seat, her thoughts briefly lingering on the upcoming day at school.

The gentle creak of the staircase announced the arrival of her parents. Phillipe Everhart, Chiara's father, entered first, his broad frame filling the doorway. His blonde hair was slightly tousled from sleep and his blue eyes sparkled with warmth as he caught sight of his daughter. There was a natural ease to his movements, a kind of playful energy that seemed to brighten the room just by his presence.

“Ah, there’s my little songbird, already up and about!” Phillipe greeted with a wide smile, his voice full of affection. He moved over to Chiara, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Ready for your first day in Avonlea, I see.”

Chiara looked up at her father, her face lighting up. “Yes, Pap! I was just negotiating with Susan about breakfast,” she said with a playful glint in her eye.

Phillipe chuckled, his laugh deep and resonant. “Were you now? I’m sure you managed to strike quite the bargain, didn’t you?”

Before Chiara could respond, her mother, Lune Everhart, entered the room with her characteristic grace. Tall and slender, she moved with a quiet elegance that commanded attention without demanding it. Her dark hair was pinned back in a simple yet sophisticated style and her striking eyes took in the scene before her with a mixture of warmth and reserved pride.

“Good morning, my dear,” Lune greeted, her voice smooth and melodic as she approached the table. She leaned down to kiss Chiara’s cheek, her touch light but affectionate. “I trust you’re feeling prepared for today?”

Chiara nodded eagerly, though she couldn't help but sense the underlying concern in her mother’s gaze. “I am Mami. I’m excited to meet everyone and I’ve already packed everything I need.”

Lune smiled, a touch of relief in her expression. “That’s good to hear, darling. You know how important it is to make a good impression.”

Phillipe, ever the playful one, interjected with a wink. “As if our Chiara could do anything but.”

Lune shot him a look, half-serious but tinged with affection. “Still, it’s always best to be prepared.”

As the family settled into their morning routine, Phillipe helped himself to some coffee, pouring a second cup for Lune, who took it with a murmured thank you. The morning sunlight continued to pour in through the windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow, making the silverware glint and the china gleam.

Phillipe, still in a playful mood, turned his attention back to Chiara. “So, tell me, what do you have in your mind for breakfast today? Any plans to impress your parents with your appetite?”

Chiara giggled, a sound that seemed to brighten the room even more. “I’ve got the mind for a couple of strawberry muffins, Dad. But only if I manage to eat all my fruit and cheese toast first!”

Phillipe laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling. “Well then, you’d better get started! We can’t have you fainting from hunger on your first day, can we?”

Lune, ever the practical one, reached for a slice of toast, added a slice of cheese and began spreading a delicate layer of jam on top. “It’s wonderful that you’re eager, Chiara, but remember to take your time. There’s no need to rush. First impressions are important, but so is your well-being.”

Chiara nodded, taking her mother’s advice to heart. She reached for a piece of fruit, determined to do things properly. As she did, she couldn’t help but feel a swell of love for her parents, who, despite their different temperaments, balanced each other perfectly and always seemed to know just what she needed.

Anne swallowed quickly, trying not to let her excitement spill over too much in front of Marilla. “I promise I won’t,” she said earnestly, though her eagerness was palpable in every movement. “I just want to check the woods before school, just in case I left my basket there yesterday.”

Marilla raised an eyebrow but said nothing, merely sipping her coffee with the practiced patience of someone who had grown used to Anne’s constant flurry of activity. She had heard about the missing basket already, Anne having mentioned it at least twice since waking up. While Marilla doubted the basket would be found where Anne thought it might be, she also knew that trying to dissuade Anne from her quest would be a futile endeavor.

After finishing her meal, Anne quickly rose from the table, pushing her chair back with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I’ll be back in no time!” she declared, already halfway to the door, her hair ribbons bouncing with each hurried step.

“Just make sure you’re not late for school, Anne,” Marilla called after her, her voice carrying that mix of sternness and affection that only she could muster.

“I won’t be! I’ll just have a quick look!” Anne promised, pausing only briefly to flash Marilla a reassuring smile before darting out the door.

Outside, the morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. The sky was a pale blue, streaked with the soft pinks and oranges of the early sun and the world around Green Gables was bathed in the serene light of a perfect October morning. Anne took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cool air and set off towards the edge of the woods with determined strides.

The path to the woods was familiar to her, lined with the tall, ancient trees that formed a natural border around Green Gables. Their leaves, now a riot of reds, oranges and yellows, rustled softly in the breeze, creating a soothing, almost musical sound that accompanied her as she walked. Anne’s mind, as always, was racing with thoughts—of the school day ahead, of the new friend she had made in Chiara and of the basket that had somehow slipped from her grasp the day before.

Reaching the edge of the woods, Anne began her search in earnest, her sharp eyes scanning the ground for any sign of her missing basket. “Oh, how careless I must have been!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with each word. “To think that I, Anne Shirley, could lose something so precious on such a glorious October day! It’s a tragedy, truly—a calamity of the most profound nature!” She moved with a combination of drama and haste, her hands brushing aside the fallen leaves and undergrowth as she peered into the nooks and crannies where the basket might have landed.

But despite her best efforts, the basket was nowhere to be found. Anne sighed, a little disappointed but not entirely surprised. Once she finally stopped, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. “Alas, it seems that my quest has been in vain,” she sighed, her voice heavy with disappointment. “The basket is gone, lost to the world, shame, it was a good basket too… But I mustn’t dwell on it! For there is still perhaps, just perhaps a chance the basket will find its way back to me in some miraculous fashion!”

As she stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from her dress, Anne couldn’t help but feel a small pang of worry. The basket had been important and she hated the idea of losing it, especially so soon after meeting Chiara. But as she straightened up and looked back towards Green Gables, a new thought struck her, one that brought a small smile back to her face.

With that optimistic thought, Anne turned and began to make her way back towards the house, her steps lighter now as she let her imagination weave a hundred different stories about where the basket might have ended up. She would go to school and if the basket was truly lost, then perhaps it was meant to be found by someone else—someone who needed it more than she did.

As she reached the door of Green Gables, Anne paused for a moment, taking one last look at the woods behind her. “Goodbye, little basket, wherever you are,” she whispered, then turned the handle and slipped back inside to gather her things for school, ready to face the day with her usual enthusiasm. Little did she know, her basket was safe and sound, waiting to be returned to her by the very friend she had been so eager to see again.

After finishing her breakfast, Chiara carefully selected two of the most appealing strawberry muffins from the tray, their golden tops studded with ruby-red pieces of fruit. She folded them in a clean linen napkin, her movements precise and deliberate, as if this small act of packing a treat for later could somehow fortify her for the day ahead. Her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves, the looming uncertainty of her first day at school in Avonlea pressing down on her.

Standing up from the table, she brushed a stray crumb from her dress and announced, with a tone of determined cheer, that she was ready to depart.

Mr. Everhart, who had been watching her with the gentle intensity that only a father could muster, set down his mug and gave her an encouraging smile. His bright blue eyes were filled with warmth. “Don’t forget anything important, my dear,” he advised, his voice steady and reassuring. “Remember to breathe. You’ll do wonderfully, just as you always do. Be confident and above all, be patient with yourself.”

Chiara tried to match his confidence, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Sensing the undercurrent of anxiety in her demeanor, her father stood and crossed the room, enveloping her in a hug. His tall, broad frame made her feel small, yet protected and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as if sealing his words with a promise. “Go on and show them what intelligence truly means!”.

She chuckled softly, “Thank you Dad”, looking up at him with a mixture of gratitude and affection. As he released her, he stepped back, his gaze lingering on her as if he were committing this moment to memory, much like an artist surveying the final touches on a masterpiece.

Mrs. Everhart, who had been quietly sipping her coffee throughout the exchange, now set her cup down and rose gracefully from her seat. Her dark striking eyes softened as she looked at her daughter. “You’re going to be wonderful, Chiara,” she said, her voice as smooth and steady as a gentle stream. “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re beautiful, inside and out. Everyone will see that, just as we do. Now, go on, darling, or you’ll be late.” She pulled Chiara into a gentle embrace, pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Chiara whispered, feeling a bit more grounded by her mother’s calm assurance.

With her parents’ words echoing in her mind, Chiara made her way to the entrance hall, where the maids had already gathered her things. Grace, the older maid with dark hair and a short, sturdy frame, was waiting by the door, holding both the baskets. When she saw that Chiara was ready, she gave her a warm smile and opened the door, letting the crisp autumn air sweep into the house.

As they stepped out onto the porch, Chiara turned to Grace. “Please, let me carry one of the baskets,” she offered, though there was little hope in her voice. Grace, as expected, firmly refused, keeping both baskets firmly in her grasp. Chiara sighed, but the familiar ritual of walking to school brought a sense of comfort.

The walk to the school was a leisurely one by Grace’s pace, a good thirty minutes along the well-trodden path that led through the heart of Avonlea’s countryside. If she had been alone, with her regular pace Chiara could have made it in less time, but she didn’t mind slowing down. The autumn morning was too beautiful to rush through.

As they passed through the white picket fence that enclosed the Everhart estate and moved onto the dirt path leading into the woods, Chiara’s natural inclination to chatter bubbled to the surface. “Oh, I would never think such a small little town such as Avonlea would have such beauty in it, Autumn here truly looks heavenly!” she began, her voice light with wonder. “The way the leaves have turned all these shades of gold and amber—it’s like something out of a storybook. October truly feels divine here, October does have a divine feel to it anywhere we go, don’t you think so Grace?”

Grace nodded, a kind smile playing on her lips as she listened. She had known Chiara since the girl was a child and she had always found her youthful enthusiasm endearing. “It’s a lovely season, Miss Chiara. The air is crisp and clean and the colors are like nothing else.”

Chiara beamed at her response, feeling encouraged to continue. “I just absolutely adore autumn, I think it would be my absolute favorite season, were it not for winter. Although,” she paused, her expression thoughtful, “I believe it is a fair tie between the two… it’s humorous I’ve thought many times before things that weren’t alive would get jealous or saddened if they weren’t my favorite, I wonder if Autumn or Winter would feel jealous they’re not the only favorite, Isn’t that the silliest thought?” She looked over to Grace to make sure she wasn’t annoying the lady, but the maid had grown fond of the girl’s personality many years ago. She as well as all the workers were told by Susan that Chiara is a very timid and quiet girl outside her home, so she is always encouraged to indulge in as many words as she can when she’s in a comforting place with trusting people.

Grace chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Not silly at all, Miss Chiara. You’ve always had a way of seeing the world that’s all your own.”

Chiara pushed her glasses back up her nose and adjusted her bangs with a quick flick of her fingers. “Perhaps,” she mused, her voice taking on a more contemplative tone, “although I don’t think things indulge in such sinful feelings such as jealousy, I do think everything is alive in some way even though it is not the conventional way everyone thinks of…but I do believe that everything is alive in its own way. Not just the trees or the animals, but even the leaves, the streams and the very air we breathe. How could anyone look at the golden leaves falling from the trees or hear the wind whispering through the branches and think they’re anything but alive? To think otherwise would be truly silly.”

Grace glanced at the young girl walking beside her, a fond smile tugging at her lips. There was something truly special about Chiara—her mind was a whirl of otherworldly thoughts and curiosity, her heart as gentle as the breeze that rustled through the trees around them. The older woman could see that Chiara was trying to mentally prepare herself for the day ahead, using the familiar comfort of nature and conversation to calm her nerves.

As they walked, Chiara continued to talk, her words weaving her thoughts and reflections that spilled out as naturally as the breath she took. Grace, content in her role as both listener and companion, allowed the girl to fill the quiet of the morning with her musings. It was a peaceful journey, the kind that made time seem to stretch and bend.

After nearly half an hour of walking, Chiara saw the school grounds emerging through the thinning trees. The dense forest gave way to a small clearing, where two white schoolhouses stood in the crisp morning light. One was slightly smaller and tucked further back, likely meant for the younger children. Chiara’s steps slowed as they approached the main building, a flutter of anticipation stirring in her chest. Grace, ever steady and reassuring, walked beside her, the soft crunch of their footsteps the only sound in the quiet morning.

As they reached the schoolhouse door, Grace, with her short stature and dark hair neatly pinned back, stepped forward to open it. The door creaked slightly, revealing a silent classroom. It was still early, and the room was empty, save for the faint sounds of someone moving in the back storage area. Chiara glanced around, taking in the rows of wooden desks, the large chalkboard, and the faint scent of chalk and dust that seemed to linger in the air. Her heart pounded slightly, the reality of her first day settling in.

“Thank you, Grace,” Chiara whispered, her voice barely above a breath, as they both stepped inside. The maid, ever attentive, placed the baskets on a bench in the cloakroom and then turned to help Chiara remove her scarf, smoothing it down before hanging it up neatly. As Grace adjusted the scarf, she noticed Chiara’s hands trembling slightly.

“Miss, we seem to have arrived earlier than expected. Would you like me to wait with you?” Grace’s voice was gentle, laced with the unspoken offer of comfort.

Chiara, despite the nerves fluttering in her chest, gave a small, brave smile. “It’s quite alright, Grace—” But her response was cut short by the sound of a door opening. They both turned to see a tall, thin man emerging from the back room. His dark hair was combed back meticulously, and a thin, well-groomed mustache rested above a set of lips that curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The teacher—Mr. Phillips, as they would soon learn—paused, clearing his throat to announce his presence. Chiara straightened instinctively, her back going ramrod straight as she adjusted her dress, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and smoothed her hair in quick, precise motions. Grace, always composed, offered a warm smile to the man.

“Hello, sir. It appears we’ve arrived a bit early. Let me introduce you to the new student, Chiara Everhart,” Grace said with the kind of dignity and respect that seemed to mask any unease she might have felt.

Chiara, trying to mirror Grace’s calm demeanor, stepped forward with a polite nod and a smile. “Good morning, sir. May I ask how I should refer to you?” Her voice was steady, but there was a hint of cautious curiosity in her tone.

The teacher’s smile widened slightly, but it remained as cold and formal as before, something that made Chiara’s pulse quicken with unease. “Mr. Phillips,” he said curtly. “It’s a pleasure to have a new apprentice in my class. I assume you’ve had previous education?”

“Absolutely. You shall not be surprised at Chiara becoming your best student,” Grace interjected, her voice light but firm, almost as if daring him to challenge her assertion.

Mr. Phillips raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he gave a small nod. “Well, she appears to be well-prepared,” he commented, his tone detached. “You may go now.”

Grace’s eyes widened slightly, and she glanced up at Chiara, whose confident exterior wavered only slightly before she gave the maid a reassuring smile. “It’s quite alright, Grace. I’ll be fine. After all, I’m not alone anymore,” Chiara said softly, her words carrying a quiet strength. “Please let my parents know I’ve arrived safely.”

Grace hesitated for a moment, her protective instincts warring with her duty, but eventually, she nodded. “Very well, Miss. Goodbye, and good luck.” She turned to Mr. Phillips, offering a polite nod before taking her leave.

Once the door closed behind Grace, Chiara forced herself to smile at Mr. Phillips, but before she could say anything, he cleared his throat again, his tone now more formal, almost brusque. “The other students will begin arriving in about ten minutes. How old are you?”

The abruptness of the question took Chiara by surprise, but she quickly regained her composure. “I am fourteen, sir. Is there a particular reason for the question?” she asked, her voice measured, though a hint of wariness seeped into her words.

“Ah, I see. I’ve rarely seen spectacles on someone so young,” Mr. Phillips remarked, his tone vaguely condescending.

Chiara’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration as she looked down at the floor. “It is indeed uncommon, but necessary for me,” she replied quietly, her fingers brushing the frames of her glasses.

“May I ask, where am I to be seated?” Chiara inquired, eager to steer the conversation to something less uncomfortable.

But before Mr. Phillips could respond, the door to the schoolhouse swung open with a burst of energy. Chiara turned to see her newly made friend, Anne, bounding into the room, her auburn hair a wild halo around her face. She was followed by another girl with dark features and a more reserved demeanor.

Anne’s eyes lit up when she saw Chiara, and without a moment’s hesitation, she rushed forward, leaving the other girl in her wake. “Chiara! Oh, I couldn’t wait to see you again! It’s only been a few hours, but it felt like days!” Anne exclaimed, her hands grabbing Chiara’s in a gesture of pure excitement. “Truly, the bond of kindred spirits is a powerful one! I’m absolutely thrilled that we’ll have classes together every day! You must meet everyone! Oh, and this is Diana—Diana Barry, my dearest friend!”

Chiara barely had time to respond before Anne was pulling her towards Diana, her heart swelling with warmth at the exuberance and genuine affection that radiated from Anne. All the nerves that had been gnawing at her seemed to melt away in the presence of her new friend’s infectious enthusiasm. For the first time since she’d stepped into the schoolhouse, Chiara felt like everything might just turn out alright.

Chiara barely had time to steady herself before Anne was leading her toward the girl she had introduced as Diana Barry. Diana stood a few steps behind, her dark hair neatly braided and her dark eyes watching them with a mixture of curiosity and shyness. Chiara noted the girl’s reserved demeanor, her quiet poise, and the slight dimples that crept into her cheeks as they approached.

“Diana, this is Chiara Everhart! She’s just moved here from Montreal, isn’t that exciting?” Anne’s voice bubbled over with excitement, her words coming out in a rush. She looked between the two girls expectantly, her eyes sparkling with the hope that they would become fast friends.

Diana offered Chiara a warm smile, extending her hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chiara. Anne’s already told me much about you.” Her tone was gentle, hoping to ease any nerves she might have.

Chuara returned the smile, her own shyness melting away slightly as she shook Diana’s hand. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Diana. I’m sure we’ll be good friends!” Her voice was soft, but there was a warmth in it that reassured Diana.

“I’m already starting to see that Avonlea is beautiful,” Chiara continued, glancing out the window at the trees that surrounded the schoolhouse. “And I’m sure with you and Anne showing me around, I’ll think so even more.”

Anne beamed at that, practically bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Oh, you will! And there’s no better place to start than right here at school. We have so many little traditions and spots that make the day more interesting. Come on, we’ll give you the grand tour! Bring your milk along!”

Anne practically vibrated with excitement, her auburn hair bouncing along with her as she spoke. “Oh, you’ll love it here! Avonlea’s schoolhouse is full of little traditions that make the day brighter. We’ll give you the grand tour—bring your milk along!”

Chiara found herself swept into the lively pace, her arm linked with Anne’s on one side and Diana’s on the other. Anne led the way with an infectious enthusiasm, her voice rising and falling with the rhythm of her thoughts. “You can sit with me! Diana doesn’t mind, do you, Diana?”

Diana smiled warmly. “Not at all. Besides, with Prissy studying for Queen’s Academy, she needs to sit with the older students. So I’ll be able to sit with Jane.”

Chiara nodded, though a hint of confusion clouded her expression. The schoolhouse, on the inside was a quaint, unassuming building with rows of simple wooden desks and a chalkboard that commanded the room. But it was the outdoors that captured Chiara’s attention—the crisp autumn air and the golden sunlight filtering through the trees, painting the scene with a soft, warm glow.

Anne, never missing a beat, struck a pose as if presenting a grand palace. “First, we must show you the stream. It’s where we keep our milk cold during the day, so it’s always fresh for lunch. You can’t forget this step, Chiara!”

The stream was a short walk from the schoolhouse, and as they approached, Chiara could hear the gentle murmur of water over stones. The stream was crystal clear, its surface sparkling under the sunlight. Flat stones led down to the water’s edge, where glass bottles nestled among the rocks, half-submerged to stay cool.

Anne pointed with a flourish. “There it is! Everyone has their own spot, but you can share mine until you find your favorite rock. It’s also a good excuse to sneak outside during lunch.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she spoke.

Chiara crouched by the stream, dipping her bottle into the icy water. The coldness seeped through the glass and into her fingers, and she smiled. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, her voice filled with quiet awe.

Anne’s expression softened, her dramatic flair giving way to genuine affection. “It is, isn’t it? There’s something peaceful about the way the water flows—always moving, but always the same.”

After a few moments of soaking in the tranquil scene, Diana gently pulled them back to their feet. “There’s more to see! Avonlea’s school is very progressive—we even have a second room for the younger students. Come, we’ll show you where the little ones learn.”

They walked over to the smaller schoolhouse nearby. It was nearly identical to the main building but scaled down to fit the younger children. The windows were lower, the desks smaller, and there was a certain innocence about the place that made Chiara smile.

“This is where they learn their letters and numbers,” Anne explained, peering through the window. “It’s usually quiet here, except during recess. Then it sounds like a tree full of chattering birds!”

Diana chuckled softly. “They do have a lot of energy. It’s sweet, though. Hearing them laugh and play reminds me of when we were their age.”

Chiara nodded, imagining the little ones with their bright eyes and eager smiles, running about with the carefree joy of childhood.

As they continued the tour, Diana took the lead in explaining the lunch routine. “All the girls in our group sit together during lunch. We make it like a little clubhouse—no boys allowed. I usually sit next to Jane, but sometimes she joins her sister, Prissy. Tillie sits on the other side of Josie. We always sit the same way, so you’ll have to gauge where to fit in. And remember, everyone shares their lunch—anyone that doesn’t share is considered awful and mean.”

Chiara nodded, taking mental notes of everything Diana said. Anne, ever enthusiastic, added, “It might seem tricky at first—it certainly was for me—but you’ll get the hang of it in no time!”

They reached the back of the schoolhouse, where Diana pointed to a small shed. “And this is the supply room. You need to ask permission before taking anything, even during recess, because sometimes Mr. Phillips sneaks in here for a nap. And… he’s secretly courting Prissy Andrews!” She whispered the last part as if revealing the most scandalous secret in all of Avonlea.

Chiara giggled at that, the warmth of this new world wrapping around her like a cozy blanket.

As they returned to the schoolhouse, they found it bustling with students. The empty yard they had left behind was now teeming with life, laughter, and chatter. Chiara suddenly remembered the basket she had found. She turned to Anne with a shy smile. “Oh, Anne, I almost forgot—I have your basket. I found it in the woods yesterday, had it cleaned, and your milk bottle filled. I hope you don’t mind… the maids also packed you lunch.”

Anne’s eyes widened with dramatic flair, her hands flying to her chest as if she had just been told the most miraculous news. “My basket! Oh, Chiara, you’ve saved me! I was positively beside myself, thinking I’d lost it in the woods forever! I was prepared to scour every inch of the forest after school today!” She took the basket with the utmost care, as though it were a priceless treasure. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, her gratitude as grand as her theatrics.

Chiara laughed softly, charmed by Anne’s exuberance. “I’m glad I could return it to you,” she said, her voice light with amusement.

With the basket now safely back in Anne’s hands, the girls moved to the stream to place Anne’s bottle among the others. Chiara was beginning to feel a connection to the simple routines of Avonlea life, finding comfort in their rhythm.

As they made their way back to the schoolhouse once again, Chiara noticed Diana had gathered a small group of girls near the entrance. They were watching her with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, their eyes bright with interest.

Diana stepped forward, her smile gentle and reassuring. “Chiara, I’d like you to meet some of the girls you’ll be spending time with. They’re all very excited to meet you.”

Chiara felt a flutter of nerves, a familiar twinge of anxiety that often accompanied meeting new people. But she forced herself to smile, reminding herself that these girls were just as eager to know her as she was to know them.

The first to step forward was Tillie Boulter, a chubby girl with light brown hair that framed her round face in gentle waves. Her warm, open smile immediately put Chiara at ease. “Hello, Chiara! It’s so nice to meet you. You’re so tall!”

Chiara giggled, her nerves easing a bit. “Thank you, Tillie. And yes, I suppose I am!”

Next was Ruby Gillis, a small, delicate-looking girl with expressive blue eyes that seemed to take in everything around her. Her smile was sweet and genuine as she spoke. “Welcome, Chiara! Diana said you’re from Montreal? What’s it like there?”

Chiara nodded, feeling a little of her shyness slipping away. “Thank you, Ruby. It’s very different from Avonlea—bigger, noisier, but there’s a charm to it. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

Then came Josie Pye, whose perfectly curled blonde hair and poised demeanor gave her an air of superiority. Her smile was polite, but there was a certain sharpness in her eyes that made Chiara feel uneasy. “Welcome to Avonlea, Chiara,” Josie said in a smooth, almost aloof tone. “Why are you wearing glasses? Aren’t those for old people?”

Chiara’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she quickly recovered. “I developed myopia at a young age. I can’t see without them.” Her voice was quieter, but steady.

Finally, Jane Andrews stepped forward. With her neatly braided light brown hair and kind face, she exuded a gentle warmth that Chiara found comforting. “It’s nice to meet you, Chiara. I like your glasses! My sister Prissy had to wear them for a while too.”

Chiara’s smile returned, this time more genuine. “Thank you, Jane.”

As the girls exchanged smiles, the air between them softened, though a lingering awkwardness remained. Just then, two boys appeared, one tall and lean, the other shorter and chubbier, with dark features and mischievous grins. The shorter boy leaned into the group, startling the girls. Josie rolled her eyes in irritation.

“Hello! I’m Moody,” the shorter boy announced with a wide grin.

Chiara blinked in surprise. “Oh… I’m sorry.”

The girls burst into laughter as Anne had made the exact same mistake, and Moody continued, unfazed. “Moody Spurgeon.”

“Ah, my mistake,” Chiara said, a shy smile forming on her lips. “I’m Chiara. Everhart.”

The tall boy, Charlie, smirked and spoke up next. “And I’m Charlie.”

Anne, sensing an opportunity to steer the conversation, pulled Chiara a little closer. “Charlie Sloane,” she added, her tone light but firm, as if to remind Chiara of her loyalties.

Chiara returned Charlie’s smirk with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you both.”

Josie Pye, with her perfect ringlets and a tone as sharp as her gaze, cut in abruptly. “Don’t talk to the boys. They’re completely ridiculous.” Her eyes flashed with an unspoken challenge.

Charlie, unfazed, turned to Josie with a smirk. “Nice to see you too, girls.”

As Josie rolled her eyes, Diana leaned in on her tip toes and whispered conspiratorially to Chiara, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “All except for Gilbert Blythe… he’s dreamy!”

Chiara’s eyes widened in surprise before she giggled softly. Anne seized the moment to do the same, leaning closer and whispering earnestly, “Make sure to watch out for Billy Andrews—Jane’s brother. He’s a bully, so steer clear of him, that’s what I do.”

Chiara’s expression shifted to one of concern, but she nodded in understanding. Just then, a boy with neatly combed blonde hair sauntered up with an air of casual disdain. “I thought there was an age limit for the school, but I see even grandmas are allowed now!” he taunted, his voice dripping with scorn.

Chiara’s face remained calm; she had faced such barbs before and was not easily rattled. Anne, however, could not let the comment pass. Stepping forward, she fixed Billy with a determined glare. “Get out of here, Billy! She’s younger than you! You know nothing.”

Billy’s eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “So, the old lady has a dog. How quaint,” he retorted, his smirk widening.

Before Chiara could process what had truly happened Jane, standing up for her friends, interjected firmly. “Billy, stop it! Leave them alone. Don’t mind my brother—he’s just being ridiculous.”

With one last smirk, Billy turned and sauntered off, his retreat marked by a dismissive wave. Chiara looked at Jane and Anne with a grateful smile, feeling a bit more secure in this new and unfamiliar environment.

Anne, ever the vigilant friend, noticed Chiara’s unease and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you. You’re doing wonderfully,” she said, her voice brimming with warmth and encouragement.

Chiara returned the smile, her nerves easing with Anne’s reassuring words. The rest of the girls hurried to their seats, leaving Chiara and Anne standing near the back of the classroom. Anne seemed on the verge of saying something, likely another piece of sage advice, when the creak of the schoolhouse door drew everyone’s attention.

Chiara’s gaze followed the sound, and she found herself staring at a tall boy who had just entered. His messy dark curls framed a face that was both striking and boyish, with soft brown eyes that held a quiet confidence, thick, straight eyebrows, and a strong jawline softened by the curve of his lips. He wore the standard attire of the boys, but his presence seemed to elevate the simplicity of his clothing—a pale brown hat now hung in the cloakroom, a thick black scarf, a dark brown button-up shirt beneath a knit gray sweater with intricate patterns, and brown trousers tucked into sturdy boots. He moved with an easy, assured grace, peeling off his scarf as he approached what Chiara assumed was his usual seat.

The boys in the classroom flocked to him almost immediately, surrounding him like a pack of ants converging on a crumb. Chiara couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the image that popped into her head. Her quiet laugh, though, didn’t go unnoticed. The boy, mid-conversation with his friends, turned his head at the unfamiliar sound and locked eyes with her.

Caught off guard, Chiara’s eyes widened in surprise. A small, polite smile curved her lips before putting her head down to hide behind her long hair, she quickly turned back to Anne. The boy’s curiosity was clearly piqued, but he masked it with a nonchalant shrug as he resumed his conversation.

As the boys resumed their banter, the one who had first caught Chiara’s attention leaned against his desk, unwinding from the cold. “Who’s that girl?” he asked abruptly, cutting through the chatter.

Charlie Sloane, acting as an informant, piped up, “That’s Chiara Everhart. She just introduced herself to me and Moody a minute ago. Why, Gilbert?”

The boy—Gilbert Blythe—didn’t take his eyes off Chiara. “No reason. She’s just… pretty.”

One of the other boys, smirking, couldn’t resist teasing him. “Do you have a thing for new girls? I remember how you were all interested in Anne when she first got here.”

Gilbert shook his head, brushing off the suggestion. “It’s not like that. New people are just… intriguing, that’s all.”

The boys exchanged knowing glances but let it go, shifting back to their previous conversation as the classroom slowly filled with the sounds of preparation for the day ahead.

Meanwhile, Chiara, having noticed Gilbert’s attention, turned to Anne with a question lingering in her mind. “Who is that boy?” she asked, her curiosity evident.

Anne’s reaction was immediate and dramatic, her eyes rolling with exaggerated exasperation. “That’s Gilbert Blythe,” she began, a mix of irritation and warning in her tone. “Don’t even think about getting close to him! When I first arrived, the girls made it crystal clear—he’s off-limits. I’m surprised they didn’t warn you.”

Chiara furrowed her brow, listening closely, her head nodding as Anne continued.

“Ruby has had a crush on him since she was nine,” Anne explained, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “She called ‘dibs’ on him, which means no one else is allowed to like him. You can’t talk to him or anything, or you’ll be breaking the rules, and then the girls will ignore you. Of course, Diana and I wouldn’t ignore you, but it would still be pretty unpleasant.”

Chiara’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That’s… a bit silly, don’t you think? But it doesn’t matter. I was just curious about who he was, that’s all.”

Anne sighed with relief, as if Chiara had just narrowly avoided a disaster. “Well, as long as you know the rules. Trust me, it’s better this way. Less problems.”

Chiara couldn’t help but smile at Anne’s seriousness, finding the whole situation a bit absurd, but also endearing. She continued subtly looking at the boy through the corner of her eyes, Considering what Diana had told her earlier.