Leo found the garden on a day the world felt gray. His grandfather, his best friend and the greatest storyteller he knew, had become quiet and distant, his tales left hanging in the air like cobwebs. Following a path of moss-covered stones only he seemed to see, Leo pushed aside a weeping willow's curtain and stepped into a hidden place.It was the Garden of Unfinished Stories. And it was dying.Flowers, sculpted from shimmering light, drooped and wilted. A fountain, which should have bubbled with liquid plot twists, was stagnant. Vines, meant to be heavy with crystalline words, were brittle and