The scent of lavender and rosemary hung heavy in the air as Elara meticulously sorted herbs in the potting shed. Mrs. Higgins, a cheerful presence in her wellington boots and perpetually dirt-stained apron, hummed a tuneless melody while deadheading roses. Elara found the routine soothing, a welcome respite from the suffocating glamour and veiled threats of Hollywood. Since the premiere, a nagging unease had settled within her, a discordant note disrupting the melody of her own magic.