Rain High Quality: Jackandjill Lavynder

The lavender hill is still purple. And on certain Thursdays, if you listen close, you can hear laughter echoing up from the old well—two voices, tangled like vines, buried somewhere between the petals and the rain.

Above them, the lavender rain began to slow. The clouds thinned. A single ray of sun broke through, turning the falling petals into tiny, bruised jewels. jackandjill lavynder rain

“Jack!” Jill cried, grabbing for him. The lavender hill is still purple