Eudora Davis was a fleeting spark of fireworks, the beginning of my run toward freedom.
When I was five years old, I met a girl. She was a Muggle, I was certain of that, because back then there was no anti-Muggle charm around this estate yet—the place was high enough, tall enough to make ordinary people turn away. But right in such a high place, she appeared, travel-worn and dusty.
There was a small forest outside the estate. The Sisyphus estate was hidden on the other side of the forest, but on this side, there was actually a vast expanse of grassland. Wildflowers grew here, butterflies fluttered, birds flew overhead, and a comfortable breeze blew.
Chapter 77