The Three Sisters

In a wind‑swept corner of the English moors lies Garth, a tiny, weather‑blackened village that seems to huddle against the relentless sky. Its stone cottages, the solitary vicarage, and the ancient churchyard form a bleak tableau where silence settles like ash after a fire. The landscape itself feels as much a character as the people who inhabit it, hinting at secrets buried beneath the cold stone and the winding beck.

The story opens in the vicar’s house, where three sisters—Mary, Gwendolen, and Alice—sit in a muted dining‑room, each a subtle variation of the same solemn grace. Mary, the eldest, watches the fire with unreadable gray eyes, her hands idle on a pair of woolen socks; Gwendolen, tall and restless, has just returned from a long trek across the moor, her energy barely contained; and Alice, the youngest, traces the smoothness of her own arm, lost in quiet contemplation. Their stillness suggests an unspoken tension, promising that the quiet of Garth will soon be stirred by the choices they must face.