Eliza's Secret Guardian

There was something in Eliza’s garden. At first, she thought it was her imagination. Shadows, sounds—those could all be explained by the wind or the creaking of the old boards in the house. But for months now, something had kept her awake, pulling her to the window to look out over the small, wild patch of greenery behind her cottage.

Then, one night in early autumn, Eliza saw it.

She was curled up in her armchair with a cup of tea, her book lying forgotten in her lap, when she felt it—a sensation like a whisper above her heart, a pull to look outside. She stood slowly, unable to shake the feeling of warm energy spreading through her chest. Moving to the window, she lifted the curtain.

A small figure, cloaked in soft golden light, moved gently through the garden. It was slender, barely taller than a child, with skin that shimmered like moonlight. A crown of flowers encircled its head, woven through with twigs and wild grasses, and its eyes gleamed with a fierce brightness. It moved with quiet grace, lifting leaves, peering beneath flower petals, as if checking each piece of the garden for something precious.

Eliza’s breath caught. A surge of warmth rose within her—a feeling like nothing she’d ever known, a strange, fierce longing. She felt a maternal love sweeping over her, as if she’d known this creature forever.

But love’s other half was fear, and Eliza felt that too, sitting like a weight in her throat, tightening with each delicate movement the creature made. What was it? What did it want?

She stood frozen at the window, heart pounding, drinking in every detail as if she might blink and lose it. Then the creature lifted its gaze, and its eyes met hers through the glass.

She gasped, heart stuttering.

But the creature did not flee or turn away. Its gaze softened, and its eyes glowed like embers. Slowly, it lifted one hand, curling its fingers in a gentle beckon.

Eliza’s hands trembled as she reached for the door.

Stepping outside, she felt the night air wrap around her like an old friend, cool and earthy with the scent of moss and damp leaves. The garden was still and silent, save for the soft croak of frogs and the faint sigh of trees shifting in the wind.

"Hello?" she whispered, her voice breaking the night’s calm like a pebble dropped in a pond.

The creature looked at her with eyes that seemed to hold centuries within them, ancient and knowing. As Eliza took a tentative step forward, her heart balanced on the knife-edge between wonder and terror, the creature mirrored her, one gentle step closer.

"What... are you?" she asked, the words tumbling out.

The creature tilted its head, as if weighing the truth of her question. And then, in a voice that sounded like distant echoes and rustling leaves, it spoke.

"I am a Watcher," it said. "I have cared for this garden for many, many years. I was here when it was a grove, and when it became a meadow. I have watched flowers bloom and wither, seasons come and go."

A shiver ran down Eliza’s spine, and her breath caught. She looked around at her garden, hands twisting together. “You… you care for it?”

The creature nodded. “Yes. But you have cared for it too.” Its eyes sparkled with a gentle amusement. “Not many have the touch you do.”

Eliza felt a swell of pride, but it was tinged with a sharp, quiet fear. She’d known, deep down, that she was tied to this land, to its wildness, but she’d never fully believed it. Now, faced with this Watcher, she feared what it might mean.

“But… why show yourself to me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The Watcher hesitated, looking down at the earth before them, hands clasped together. “Because I am leaving soon.”

Eliza’s heart sank. “Leaving?”

“Yes.” The creature sighed, a sound like wind through a forest. “My time here is ending. I must pass on what remains of my love for this place.”

The words hit Eliza like a weight, sinking into her heart. The thought of the garden without this creature, without the gentle, watching presence she hadn’t even known was there, felt unbearably sad. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“If you leave,” she whispered, “what will happen to the garden?”

The Watcher’s eyes softened. “The garden will flourish or wither, as it will. But I sense you care for it deeply. You have the spirit to keep it alive.”

Eliza looked at her hands, rough and lined with the faint traces of soil. The love she felt for the land rose in her like a wave, but with it came fear—the fear that she would fail, that she wouldn’t be enough, that the magic would fade without the Watcher’s presence.

“I’m… afraid,” she admitted, her voice catching. “What if I can’t care for it like you did?”

The Watcher reached out, one ethereal hand hovering over hers, a touch so light it was like the brush of a breeze. “Love and fear are two sides of the same coin. If you were not afraid, you would not be ready.”

Eliza looked up, meeting the Watcher’s deep, knowing gaze. In that moment, she felt an overwhelming love for this place, for the soil and leaves, for the tiny lives it harbored. And she knew that her fear would be with her, as surely as her love, guiding her to care as fiercely as she could.

The creature smiled, a quiet glow radiating from it. “The garden is in your hands now, Eliza. Let love guide you, and fear keep you mindful.”

The golden light surrounding the Watcher began to flicker and fade, growing faint and translucent.

“Wait!” Eliza cried, panic bubbling up in her chest. “Will I ever see you again?”

The Watcher’s form shimmered, its voice like a distant whisper. “I am in the petals of the flowers, in the rustle of leaves, in the heartbeat of the earth beneath your feet. You will see me, always.”

And with that, the Watcher’s light dissolved into the night, leaving Eliza standing alone in the quiet garden.

For a long moment, she stayed there, breathing in the night air, feeling the cool dampness of the earth beneath her feet. Her fear hadn’t left her—it pulsed inside her, mixing with the fierce, protective love she felt for the land. But in that moment, she understood that both love and fear would guide her. She would care for the garden as best as she could, knowing that the Watcher’s presence lingered within every leaf and petal.

And so, every morning and evening, Eliza worked her hands into the soil, nurturing the garden, filling it with the love the Watcher had passed on to her. Fear and love walked hand in hand, guiding her to keep the Watcher’s memory alive, her heart forever bound to the earth, and to the quiet magic within it.