Once upon a time, in the Kingdom of Alderwyn, there lived a young princess named Wenda.

Princess Wenda was eleven years old, and she liked to walk slowly. While others hurried, she lingered. She noticed things—how places felt, and when they felt different.

Her favorite place was the royal garden.

The garden was open to the king’s subjects, who came from all across Alderwyn to admire it. They walked its paths politely, spoke in soft voices, and soon took their leave.

Everything there was perfect.

Every path was straight. Every hedge trimmed just so. Every flower bloomed where it was meant to.

And yet, the garden was very quiet.

At its heart worked the Clockwork Gardener.

The Gardener was made of brass and steel, with careful joints and softly turning gears. Inside its chest, it ticked like a clock, keeping perfect time. No one remembered who had built it; it had always tended the garden.

It wore a long, weathered coat and carried polished tools. When precision was required, it lowered old brass goggles over its glassy eyes.

The Gardener did not speak. It did not rest. It simply worked.

If a branch grew crooked, it trimmed it. If a vine wandered, it guided it back. If a flower bloomed differently, it removed it.

The garden became flawless.

One afternoon, Princess Wenda stopped among the flowers and said aloud,

“Why does it feel as though the garden is holding its breath?”

The Gardener heard her, though it did not look up.

Not long after, the Gardener found something unfamiliar near the stone wall: a small cluster of seeds it did not recognize.

According to its purpose, they were an error.

It removed them.

They returned.

Again it removed them. Again they returned, stronger each time.

For the first time, the Gardener paused.

That evening, Princess Wenda knelt beside the little shoots.

“They’re lovely,” she said. “Will you let just one grow?”

The Gardener hesitated. Its ticking slowed.

At last, it stepped back.

The seed grew—not neatly, but truly. Insects returned. Then birds. Then flowers unlike any Alderwyn had known.

The Gardener watched. It did not prune. Dirt marked its hands. When more wild seeds appeared, it protected them instead of removing them.

The garden changed.

It was alive.

The king’s people began to linger. Children wandered gently from the paths. Laughter returned.

One night, Princess Wenda stood beside the Gardener.

“It’s different now,” she said.

“Yes,” the Gardener replied softly.

“Is it better?”

The Gardener looked over the uneven paths and unfamiliar flowers.

“It is alive,” it said.

Princess Wenda smiled.

And the garden of Alderwyn no longer held its breath.