#a flower that grows on the trees around my city and a cup of jasmine green tea :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

groundnul · 5 years ago

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Language of Flowers: Shinobu X Mitsuri X Reader

Request: Yay, I’m so happy you’re willing to do poly relationships!! Could I request a scenario/one shot where shinobu and mitsuri are in an established relationship and the reader has feelings for both of them that she thinks are unrequited but then they end up inviting her to be in a poly relationship together?

Title: Language of Flowers

Pairing: Shinobu X Mitsuri X Reader

Word Count: 3,153

Warnings: none

Notes: alternate title: tengen uzui to the rescue

Across the courtyard, you watched as Mitsuri and Shinobu enjoyed each other’s company over a cup of tea. Shinobu had an arm extended over the table, trying to feed something to an obviously bashful and fawning Mitsuri. As Mitsuri took the bite of food offered, Shinobu drew back her hand with a sweet smile, eyes trailing Mitsuri as if to memorize everything about her.

Turning away, a frustrated huff passed through your lips. Your feet moved on their own, taking you away from the source of your turmoil. Why did both of the people you had a crush on have to be together? Why?

It’s not fair. It’s not like you asked to be hopelessly in love with both of them -- it just kind of happened.

. . .

“(Y/N)-san, come look!” Mitsuri said excitedly, crouched next to a bench in the courtyard of the Butterfly Estate. Her long braid cascaded down her haori, swaying along with her movements. Jade eyes beckoned you closer, along with a wave of her arm.

You rushed over, unsure of what all the commotion was about. When you neared, you followed the point of her delicate fingers to the seat of the bench. On it crawled a small, furry caterpillar.

“Isn’t it cool??” she asked, looking from you to the caterpillar. Her hand rested dreamily on the crest of her cheek. You giggled at her adoration, watching her eyes light up as the insect reared its little head into the air.

“Do you know what kind it is?” you inquired, watching her expression. You could see the visible shift on her features as she processed your question, searched her brain and found an answer.

“Hmm…” she thought for a moment, finger tapping against her lip. Her hand outstretched animatedly as the answer came to her and she smiled determinedly. “Shinobu said it was called a maimai ga! She also said not to touch it, because you’ll get a rash.”

She warned you with the waggle of her finger, but you kept your eyes fixed on her adorable expression, chuckling at her enthusiasm.

She must have a beautiful soul.

. . .

While it wasn’t your first interaction with Mitsuri, it was one of the first times you had a one-on-one conversation with her, outside of the pillar meetings. You slid open the door to your guest room, slipping off your haori, sword and shoes and tossing them into the closet. You grumbled under your breath, moodily crawling under the covers of your tatami. These girls were going to make you crazy.

Your love for Shinobu came about a different way.

. . .

A choked scream ripped through the air as your body was slammed against a tree, forcing the air out of your lungs. Clawed fingers wrapped themselves around your throat, threatening to crush your windpipe.

The demon before you was one of the strongest you had faced, up to this point. Your measly Kanoe ranking meant nothing in comparison to their unbridled strength and speed. And now, they were just toying with you. Seeing how long you could hold out against their torture.

Your sword was long abandoned across the forest clearing, lodged into the trunk of a tree. Trembling hands pried at the fingers around your throat, feet thrashing as the demon scraped your body further up the tree. Your mind raced, searching for a way out of this horrible situation, but nothing came.

As your world grew dark, you heard the demon laugh. You feared it would be the last thing you ever heard.

But the voice of someone else rang through the clearing moments before the darkness swallowed you whole.

“Excuse me?” the voice asked politely, eyeing the demon curiously. “What are you up to? Is this some sort of game?”

The demon’s grip loosened in surprise, just for a moment, long enough for you to escape their grasp. You fell to the dirt in a heap, coughing and sputtering as you tried to get away. But angry fingers gripped your hair, jerking you backward. The mysterious voice was closer in an instant, somehow behind you.

“I don’t think she wants to play with you,” the voice explained sweetly. “But I’d love to be your friend. Would you like to play with me, instead?”

Your hair was let loose, and you seized the opportunity. Shaking legs hardly supported your weight as you dashed across the clearing to your sword, desperately tugging at the hilt. After finally pulling it free, you turned back to the scene.

A small girl somehow towered over the slain body of the demon, now splayed on the ground. Lavender butterflies fluttered through the forest clearing, swirling upward into the sky. She sheathed a thin sword, along with something else you couldn’t quite see. Turning around, her purple eyes met yours.

“Hello, there!” she greeted, her voice bright in the suffocating darkness of the night. “Are you alright?

You nodded numbly, almost entranced by her features under the moonlight. She giggled, hands clapping together in front of her. Her eyes closed happily, head tilting to the side.

“Perfect!”

. . .

You sighed at the memory, staring up at the ceiling of your room. The night Shinobu saved you was forever etched into your brain, replaying whether you wanted it to or not. Her kindness and skill inspired you, while her beauty captivated you.

The same could be said for Mitsuri, whose bursting love made your heart swell with adoration. Her heart of gold shined brighter than any star in the night sky, and you’d give anything to be on the receiving end of her smile.

Groaning, you slapped your cheeks. Why did everything have to be so hard?

Confessing was kind of out of the question. There were a million things that could go wrong, and the last thing you wanted to do was get between their relationship. If one or both of them rejected you, it would make things incredibly awkward. On the other hand, if either of them reciprocated your feelings… that’s a whole other can of worms. Shaking your head, you dismissed the idea. It’s not like you could confess to two people at once…

Unless?

No, no, you couldn’t do that…

Right?

Your eyes narrowed in thought. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Confessing to the separately might seem shady, like you’re trying to keep someone out of the loop. If either of them like you back, it’s going to require a conversation between the three of you, regardless. So… why not kill two birds with one stone?

Sitting up from your tatami, you shoved the blankets off and grabbed your haori. After grabbing your shoes and sword, you headed to the front of the estate, a determined look in your eyes. You spotted Sumi, Kiyo and Naho in the hall, whispering to them instructions for later. Their eager nods in response gave you confidence, their hands waving you off as you began your trek to the city. What’s a confession without flowers, anyway?

. . .

When you returned a few hours later, the sun had just begun to set on the horizon, sparking golden hour. Peeking around the corner, you glanced at the courtyard, searching for the familiar figures of your crushes. To your luck, it seems they both got your little message, and were seated near one another on the edge of the engawa. You gripped the two bouquets of flowers in your hand tightly, taking a deep breath.

Don’t mess this up.

You stepped out from the corner, slowly approaching the two from the side, the bouquets of flowers behind your back. Two sets of eyes quickly flicked to you, smiles welcoming but curious. Shinobu was the first to speak.

“Oh, hello, (Y/N)!” she said sweetly, turning her body to face you. “It’s nice to see you. What’s going on?”

Mitsuri’s eyes trailed over Shinobu in admiration, her finger rising to rest near her lips. You swallowed harshly, stepping out in front of the two, feet shuffling awkwardly in the dirt.

“Well, actually,” you started nervously, eyes switching between their similarly expectant stares. “I wanted to talk with you both.”

“Oh?” Shinobu says, eyebrows raising. “You know you could have just stopped by.”

“When the girls came to see me, I thought maybe something was wrong,” Mitsuri explained sheepishly, a flash of concern in her eyes. “Is everything alright?”

Your cheeks flushed at their words. You cleared your throat, biting your lip. Sending Sumi, Kiyo and Naho to fetch them upon your return was risky, but you hoped it would make the setting a little more formal for something like a confession.

“E-everything’s fine,” you stutter, cursing your anxiousness. “I’m sorry if I worried you. There’s just… um… I’ve been meaning to tell you both something for a while now.”

You felt your face grow even hotter as their eyes searched your face for answers.

“What is it?” Shinobu asked innocently, feet swinging playfully off the edge of the engawa.

“You know you can always talk to us,” Mitsuri reassured warmly, giving you her undivided attention.

You went rigid, heart thrumming in your ears. Taking a deep breath in, you bent at the waist, eyes squeezed shut.

“I… I have liked you both for a very long time,” you explained quietly, not having the courage to even open your eyes. “So… So, I- I hope you accept this as… as a token of my affection for you both!”

You thrust both your hands out, a bouquet in each. In the right, for Shinobu, comprised of lavender roses and white jasmine -- love at first sight and sweet love. In the left, for Mitsuri, red roses and pink camellia -- love and longing. Shinobu would understand the meaning behind hers, you’re sure, but you’re not certain if Mitsuri knows a lot about flower meanings. Maybe Shinobu would fill her in. You sigh.

Knots twist in your stomach at the deafening silence that follows. Your fingers are trembling, you’re sure, as hands gingerly pluck the flowers from your grip, first Shinobu and then Mitsuri. Your hands drop stiffly to your side, clenching into fists. Slowly, you raise your head, the rest of your body following as you examine their expressions.

They both look surprised, looking from one another and back to you. You feel your heart sink.

You knew this was a bad idea.

“Thank you, (Y/N), they’re beautiful,” Shinobu says, enthusiasm trailing off into something entirely different. “But, Mitsuri and I … we’re already...”

Her eyes are soft, looking at you with sympathy. You feel your whole body shaking, hands gripping roughly at the edges of your haori in an attempt to calm the sea of emotions welling within you.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you swallow thickly, trying to will them away. Your heart rate spikes, and your body wills you to do something, anything to escape the extreme stress of this situation.

Your eyes look to Mitsuri, who is looking at you with empathetic eyes. It looks like she’s close to tears, herself. You shouldn’t have let her see you like this.

“(Y-Y/N), I had no idea.” Mitsuri said, and you could practically feel her guilt. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something we could do-”

You made her feel like that.

“I-” you begin, voice cracking. “I understand. I’m sorry to have bothered you both. P-please excuse me.”

You swiftly turn, moving quickly back towards your room.

“W-wait, (Y/N!)” you hear Mitsuri shout, but you can’t bring yourself to turn and face her. You can’t see that look in her eyes, again. You keep walking.

You ignore the tears streaming down your cheeks until you’re out of their sight, scrubbing harshly at them to will them away. You choke down the sob trying to escape your throat, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your haori. Distracted by your own sadness, you fail to notice the large figure turning the corner just up ahead.

Your body collides with the much larger figure of Tengen Uzui, pushing you a few steps back.

“Hm?” he questioned, looking down to your much smaller form.

You haori obscured most of your face as you politely excused yourself, walking past him and down the hall to your room. His curious and concerned eyes looked from you to the end of the hallway, where Mitsuri stood helplessly. As he approached the Love Pillar, sensing her mutual sadness, paternal red irises all but demanded an explanation from the pinkette. In response, Mitsuri led Tengen and Shinobu into her own room.

As you cried pitifully in the confines of your closet, you were oblivious to the conversation transpiring between the three pillars just a few rooms down the hall.

. . .

A few hours later, a knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts.

You sighed, tossing your blanket off to the side. You rub your eyes, stretching out your tired muscles as you stand. Gently smoothing out your hair and straightening your clothes, you slide open the door.

Before you stand Sumi, Kiyo and Naho, looking at you with excited eyes. Your shoulders slump with relief.

“Hi girls,” you greet nicely, albeit tiredly. “What can I do for you?”

“Miss (Y/N), your presence is requested in the courtyard!” they said surprisingly loud in unison, startling you. You chuckle lightly at the scare, crossing your arms and propping yourself up on the doorway. You sigh for what must be the hundredth time today, considering the implications of their words.

“May I ask who is requesting my presence?” you ask, raising a brow at the girls.

After exchanging a look with each other, they look back to you, shaking their heads. Damn. Well, it was worth a shot.

“Okay, thank you,” you laugh out lifelessly. “I’ll be right there.”

The three girls nod in response, making their way to wherever it is they go when they’re not working. Closing the door, you run your hand down your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. There were very few people who would want to see you, and you can think of two in particular. The thought makes your heart heavy.

They probably just want to reject me formally.

Nonetheless, you slip your shoes, sword and haori back on, splash some water on your face and slowly make your way to the courtyard. From your spot in the hallway, you see the faint glow of candles ahead, illuminating the darkness. Furrowing your brows, you continue forward. The closer you get, the more candles there seem to be, lighting a path for you into the center of the courtyard. You chuckle half-heartedly, pivoting to search for the culprit. Looking up to the engawa, you see none other than Shinobu and Mitsuri in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in each of their hands.

Under the moonlight, Shinobu looked so much like she did the first night you met her. Mitsuri looked equally as lovely, the light of the candles giving her the golden glow of a goddess. Why did they have to be so beautiful even as they reject you? The world truly is cruel.

Ar first glance, you thought the bouquets were the ones you got them, and you deflated. Of course, they’re just going to give them back to you. Why else would they be here?

But, looking closer, it’s clear the bouquets are different. Light from the candles illuminate the red tulips and white roses dotting the bouquets -- a declaration of love and a new beginning.

Shocked, you stare at them wordlessly. Your eyes switched between their figures, gauging their intent. This couldn’t possibly be right. They called you out here to reject you, crush your hopes and dreams of ever loving either of them… right?

As they stepped forward, you didn’t move. You hardly breathed until they were both just a few feet in front of you, eyes looking at you expectantly.

“Thank you for coming, (Y/N),” Shinobu said, her normal smile in place. “We wanted to talk with you.”

You forced down the giddiness bubbling up within you, opting not to get your hopes up. When you didn’t speak, Mitsuri spoke up.

“Earlier today, when you told us your feelings, we were kind of shocked,” she explained honestly, a heavy blush adorning her features. “But after having some time to think things over… and talk with a friend… I think we have a solution!”

“(Y/N),” Shinobu started, eyes staring straight into yours. “You’ve been very special to me since the night we met. Your kindness, strength and compassion have only grown since then.”

“I have also seen those traits in you,” Mitsuri admitted, her expression growing more animated as her passion grew. “I have grown to love them! And…after hearing your confession, I realized my feelings towards you may be more than platonic.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Firstly, it’s like they rehearsed this. Was there someone holding up cue cards you couldn’t see? Secondly, their words were still bouncing around in your head. They hadn’t really sunk in yet.

“(Y/N), do you know what polyamory is?” Shinobu cut into your thoughts candidly, eyes curious.

To say you just about fainted was an understatement. There was no way this was real, that the two girls of your dreams are asking you about polyamory after your failed confession. Impossible.

You nod silently, afraid of what was going to come next.

“Lovely!” Shinobu cheered. “Then we’ve got a proposal for you.”

Shinobu looked to Mitsuri, who nodded at her before turning back to you.

“If it’s alright with you…” she began, trailing off in what looked like embarrassment. But as she spoke, her confidence began to show through, painting her words with excitement. “We would like to invite you into a polyamorous relationship with us!”

Eyes wide, you stared at the two of them in pure shock. The reality of their words earlier had started to hit you, and all of a sudden, you felt like you were on top of the world.

“This is new territory for both of us, but we’d like to give it a shot,” Shinobu said happily, smile growing. “If you are open to the possibility, of course.”

“If not, we completely under-” Mitsuri began, only to be cut off with an “oof” at the impact of your arm around her and Shinobu’s shoulders, pulling them into a hug.

“I accept!!” you all but shouted, unable to control your excitement as you hugged them closer.

Shinobu chuckled, followed by Mitsuri, and then you, turning your group hug into a big, laughing mess. As you finally released the two, you pulled back, accepting the bouquets from their hands and holding them close to your chest.

Even if you didn’t have the words to tell them how excited you were for this chance to love and be loved, it was okay.

The language of flowers was enough.

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badgerpride96 · 5 years ago

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The Sun Lantern - Short Story

YES, A SHORT STORY, SHE SAID. IT WILL BE QUICK, SHE SAID. Anyway this is that short story, I had so much fun with it. @g10-gaming Sent me a post about “everyday magic” and I filed it away ages ago. I love this story, I hope it makes someone smile today :)

Nothing is ever more jolting than your alarm going off during REM sleep. I practically flew out of bed. Smacking around on my bedside table for my phone, I wondered if I could call in sick today. No way would my boss not see through that.

I sat up rubbing my eyes. My room was almost too small for one person; my bed took up most of the space, with the dresser shoved into one corner and a tiny desk in the other. I couldn’t open my door all the way because it hit the desk, but that didn’t matter as I always kept it closed. My plants floated above my head- lavender over my bed, english ivy weaving itself across the windows, jasmine blooming every day over my desk, kokedamas of succulents and ferns drifting around, all hopefully giving off serotonin and dopamine amplifiers. Supposedly helping my mental state.

My current mental state was foggy, distantly awake, and apathetic. A fairly good start. I hauled myself out of bed, snatching up my jeans and hopping into them to the door. I opened it silently in case any of either of the human girls I lived with were asleep. No one was in the living room. It was 4:30 AM, so this was expected, even of the vampire. He got home from the immunology lab at 3, and did reports and studying shut up in his room. Night shift, of course; I heard the other shift workers loved him. I went to pour some tea leaves in the kitchen, and mindlessly scooped at an empty can before remembering I’d run out yesterday.

“Fuck me,” I mumbled, doing my best not to stomp as I made my way to the bathroom instead. As I brushed my teeth, I assessed how much work I wanted to bother putting into my hair. I used to straighten it every morning, but that took so long I eventually gave up. Besides, my mama said natural black hair was beautiful anyway, and if it was good enough for Mama, it was good enough for me. My makeup sat optimistically in my drawer of the cabinet, most of it having expired untouched several months ago. I did the bare minimum; my hair was a mess of corkscrews, longer than it had ever been. I looked like a hyacinth, a smaller face surrounded by an explosion of adornment.

I washed my face and checked my watch. I had more time than usual, so stopping to get Cassie’s tea wouldn’t be a problem. I texted Daphne, my boss, asking if she wanted anything. I zipped up an old canvas jacket and locked my front door behind me.

It was a brisk April morning, alright for a run. The cold air was sharp in my lungs as I started to jog downtown. I didn’t like public transport and couldn’t afford car payments. Males of every species tended to be too...grabby in a bus or metro carriage, and besides I had no issue with running. Nymphs are known for being fast runners. I hear Apollo learned this the hard way. Idiot.

I ran through the street lit morning, the city already humming around me. I passed Merl’s Auto, with Merl himself opening his roll door. Jessie, his familiar currently presenting as a dalmation, barked happily at me as I waved to Merl.

“Alright, love?” He called to me.

“Still going!” I shouted back. Jessie leapt up and ran to the end of the block with me, I turned onto Main, heading towards the heart of downtown. The main drag was lined with huge oak trees. The dryads had petitioned to put them in to “beautify” downtown about ten years ago. As dryad decisions go, it was a fairly good one. I slowed as I neared Cassie’s, pulling out my wallet. Cassie waved at me as I approached the windows.

Cassie’s Coffee was a larger storefront. Windows wrapped around the front, exposed brick warming the inside. Everything was “natural” looking inside Cassie’s, without crossing over into the “vegan anti-vaxxer” style. Live edge tables were lit by simple elegant pendant lights, the different shots and enchantments lined the walls in glass jars, and the best coffee money could buy came in huge mugs. This morning, in the middle of the week at 5 AM, no customers were laughing in the windows. Cassie stood at the grinder, pouring in beans. The chimes above the door announced me.

“Morning, love!” She called out without turning around. “Right there on the bar for you!”

“Thanks, Cassie.” I pulled out my wallet as I approached. Two take-away teas were steaming there; one oolong, extra shot of focus and honey, and one chai with two calm and one vanilla. You could taste the magic in them. Focus tasted bittersweet, something to snap you back. Hope tasted like honey, not too sweet but enough to notice. Calm and confidence were similar, warm and spicy, but the latter with a slight tang. Both were excellent with chai. I wrinkled my nose. I hated chai, but Daphne drank it like it was going out of style. “Wow, how’d you know?”

“Oh, a joker, so original.” She wasn’t facing me but I knew the eye roll just the same. The scorn of a seer over a joke, I tell you.

I was about to remind her that I had to pay when the swinging door to the back room opened and suddenly my lungs forgot how to breathe properly. A girl walked into the room, the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. She was perfectly proportioned, like a sculptor had agonized over the exact full curves of her hips for weeks. Her hair, shining silvery white, was pinned in an elegant low ponytail swishing past her hips. Carrying a box, she walked to the other end of the bar, away from me. Her hair pin caught my eye; it seemed to glow, emitting its own light. It even flickered. There was something unmistakably magical about her, but not any magic I knew of. It was mysterious. It felt like seeing a fantastical painting scene, where it seems unreachable tranquil and mystical. She was-

“Right that’s 5. 32,” Cassie said, tossing the empty coffee sack aside.

“I...what?”

“Money, sweetheart. For the tea?”

“Tea! Right!” I was sweating bullets. The girl turned to look at me and smiled. Fuck. I handed Cassie her $6.00-with-tip-total and booked it out the door.

“I am a disaster,” I muttered to myself as I walked as fast as I physically could to Daphne’s, angrily sipping my tea. This did nothing to assuage my annoyance, but it did distract me by searing the shit out of the roof of my mouth. I turned the corner onto Garden, trying to salvage the morning. At least the focus shot was already starting to work.

Daphne’s Flowers was a hole-in-the-wall shop, literally. When the city was established and a town center founded, buildings were far apart so as to allow for carriages to deliver between them. Some were filled in, especially those along the riverfront. But about 25 years ago, a water main burst between the two, severely damaging one building and destroying the decaying courtyard between the two. Daphne offered to buy the land between for her flower shop, had the concrete removed and began restoring the underlying soil. Now, it looked as I saw it; a Dutch door at the entrance, latices of vines creating a living building, and a soft glow breaching through the leaves. The vines could be opened up if it was warm, or if it was raining lightly. Behind the door lay a calm, lush oasis of Daphne’s wonderful imagination.

Daphne had known me since I was born. She’d been a friend of my mother’s since childhood, and Mama had worked for her since my father had left. Daphne offered me a job and her when I showed a proficiency for magical and ornate flowers. Daphne was a nymph, just like my mother and I. She had general plant and flower manipulation, whereas I, an anthsousia, specialized in flowers. When I was old enough, Daphne developed a wedding wing of her business, which I worked almost exclusively in now due to my talents with the fancier flora.

Today, as I worked the gate open while balancing the cups, Daphne was starting on the local orders of the day. She was wearing her usual uniform of a t-shirt and overalls. Her long black hair was in a braid, streaks of grey weaving almost to her waist. She smiled at me, barely a line in that beautiful face. She stood as I came in.

“Good mornin, hon,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag and accepting her tea, “Oh, how lovely.”

“Morning,” I said, going around the counter to find my apron.

“How’re you doin today?”

“Alright.” I shrugged.

She looked at me for a moment longer than was necessary, as though she might debate this. She was older than my Mama was and yet neither of them ever seemed to have a discernible age. They had just seemed to be. It had been just the three of us, running the shop; three magical black ladies, sipping tea and growing plants.

“Okay then,” Daphne said, in a tone that said she didn’t believe me but wouldn’t admit it. She patted my cheek. “Lots to do.”

I grabbed my orders clipboard, cracked my knuckles, and plunged my hands into the soil.

It rained the whole month Mama was sick, but it was sunny the day she died. It seemed, at the time, to be so unjust as to be criminal. Who could have seen this woman and give her nothing but clouds as she slipped away, never to see sunlight again? It was two years ago, nearly to the day, but I remember vividly the anger I felt at seeing the sun. I’m sure Apollo heard my grief that day. I’m sure every god, regardless of region or religion, was blamed for taking my mother back. I would like to tell you that I let go of that anger, that I had a fairy tale story of rebirth and growing stronger. But instead the anger faded, and nothing replaced it. Nothing at all. It was like I was the one buried in soil, like my plants; aware of the world above, wishing to join, but not strong enough to break through. It was at least a month before I could even grow a daisy.

Now, my magic was full again, and as it was all I had, I put my whole life into these flowers. I grew them slowly, each getting its own care and time. Nymphs can’t grow a whole shop’s inventory on the spot. Well, we could, but the drain on our power and energy would cause any normal nymph to lose consciousness. We grew our flowers little by little. For large orders, we carved out days. For others, like daily deliveries, we could do it in an hour. Sun lanterns, bluebells with soft chimes, and the roses with built in charm enhancements were the biggest magical sellers, my personal favorite flowers being sun lanterns. Vibrant yellow pods, they were essentially immortal. Like Lazurus plants with water, they would remain dormant and shriveled until placed in sunlight for an hour or so; then, they would uncurl and float up in the air, illuminating a room for up to about a day. Natural solar lanterns.

We had all sorts of succulents, flowers, ground cover, and shrubs. We delivered to local businesses and events, especially weddings. These could be an all day affair, when I stayed at the venue to constantly maintain the freshness of the blooms. It drained me, but I got to keep all the tips and Daphne always gave me one or two days off after. Today, we had a delivery to two hotels and two cafes. As I scanned my clipboard, I noticed Cassie’s was the last stop. From under the soil, I felt a little sun break through as I considered that girl would be there. I immediately shook myself. I was being dense. I was just curious; she certainly wasn’t human, but she wasn’t any kind of magic I knew.

In thinking about this, one of the lilies for the first hotel came out slightly pink rather than white. I quickly fixed it, the annoyed feeling from earlier starting to seep in. I was getting distracted and I never wanted to mess up an order due to just being distracted. I got all the lilies cut, added the appropriate greenery we kept handy, wrapped up the package and left for the hotel. I managed to put the girl out of my head until I’d delivered the second to last order and headed back to Daphne’s to get Cassie’s flowers. Her order was easy: six bunches of Santa Barbara Daisies, some filler, and some spray roses. Except for the sprays, we had them all on hand. And the sprays were so easy Daphne did them while I was gone. I quickly wrapped them up, thinking about the girl’s hair clip. The way it glowed was impossibly delicate, and the golden light seemed to contrast her hair beautif-

“What’s the smile for?” Daphne asked, cutting some roses for display.

“What? Nothing. Nice day.” I took off out the door before she could accuse me of another blatant mistruth, nearly smacking into the doorframe in my haste.

I arrived at Cassie’s right on time at 8am. I slid the carrier off my back, taking out the packages of flowers and setting them on the counter. I looked around the cafe, casually. Or almost casually. I leaned on the high counter lining the pickup bar, hoping and not hoping that I could get out of here quick.

“Can I help you?”

I jumped and spun around to the bar. Unfortunately, given spatial relations and Murphy’s law, my hip jammed itself directly into the corner of the bar. I yelped and clutched my hip. “Fuck!”

“Oh my god! Are you alright?” I looked up through squinted eyes and almost swore again. Of course it would be her.

“Uh, oh, yeah, just fine.” I stood slowly and leaned on the bar again, a little more heavily this time. “I’m just delivering the flowers.”

She stared at me for a second, then realized the packages were in front of her. “Oh! They’re lovely!” She had a nice voice. European, maybe Spanish?

“Oh excellent” Cassie emerged from the back room, carrying a stack of boxes. The top one began to slip, and the girl ran over and took it from her. “Ah, thank you Llana dear.”

Llana.

I realized I was staring. I busied myself unwrapping the flowers, and signing the invoice. Cassie winked at me; I was sure she knew why I was so nervous. I coughed a goodbye and somewhat limped my way out the door.

Her name was Llana.

This routine happened every day for a week. I can’t say I was feeling any more positive, but at least my hip didn’t suffer anymore. I was absolutely terrified to say anything more than “Morning” to Llana. But at least I had something nice to think about.

One morning, I woke up with my alarm but laid there for a few minutes. The morning was very quiet, with sounds of a barely stirring city. For some reason, it was a little easier to get up that day, it was easier to look in the mirror, it was easier to run. It was easier to look in the mirror, and the shop windows blurring past, and see Mama’s face in my reflection. And it was easier to walk into Cassie’s and say,

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Llana replied, handing me the teas Cassie had already made. “I’m glad it’s a good one today.” I knitted my eyebrows. “You usually just say ‘morning.’ Today you said good morning.”

I opened my mouth, but my brain hadn’t decided what was going to come out. It was too slow, apparently, because instead of “thank you” or “You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen upon this hellscape of an earth,” what I said was “You too!”

We stared at each other for a moment as the steam rose from the tea in my hands, and my brain finally caught up. When it did, it suddenly decided, wow, this is the worst thing you’ve pretty much ever done. I decided the best course of action was to spin around, nearly slinging tea all over myself, and leave IMMEDIATELY.

“You too?!” I berated myself as I strode with rage down the street. “What the fuck.” I was irrationally angry, and I know it wasn’t really about “You too.” It had been such a good morning. All I’d had to do was go with it and be a functioning human.

Daphne looked up as I stomped in. I practically threw her tea to her and slammed mine on the desk. She leapt up and grabbed my shoulders. “Oh no, we are taking this bad energy OUT.” She pushed me back out the door and onto the promenade. “What is up with you, girl? You’re spacey, then I can barely get you to talk to me, then you’re happy for a hot second before you come blazin in here with the fury of a thousand suns. Now, I don’t care if I make every order and customer we have today late, you are gonna tell me what the hell is going on.” She folded her arms, and stood as though I was going to charge her.

I glared at her, my hands shoved deep in my pockets and screwing up my mouth. I didn’t want to admit that I was angry over something so stupid, even though I knew it wasn’t just that. I didn’t want to say that I felt like I’d messed up a good day. I didn’t want to say that I’d messed up the last year of my life. I didn’t want to talk about stuff that hurt. But Daphne glared right back.

“I like this girl who works at Cassie’s, okay? And I fucked up talking to her this morning. And I hate waking up and thinking its going to be a good day and then I fuck it up. And I feel like I can’t do anything right and I’m always on autopilot, and I was to actually choose how something goes but I guess fucking not and I just wish I had-” I stopped. My throat tightened. Daphne had one hand on her cheek, her eyes gently gazing at me. “I wish I had Mama,” I choked out. I squeezed my eyes shut and shoved the heels of my hands against them.

“Oh honey.” I felt Daphne wrap her arms around me. “Oh honey.”

Do you ever think you can hold it together as long as someone else doesn’t actually show you any emotion back? Like if they just stand there silently, you can pull it back and be fine and not completely dissolve? The moment Daphne got hold of me, I burst into tears. I cried for a few minutes. It felt good. It felt like I was opening the tattered box in the attic of my mind and letting the bad stuff out for a walk. Daphne rubbed my back. She didn’t say anything else, just let me cry.

I finally caught my breath and pulled away. “Jesus. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” I hiccuped a few times.

“Why are you apologizing?” Daphne asked. “It’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to feel, especially if you’re angry. But I can’t tell if you’re more afraid of crying or of feeling, girl.”

In the back of my internet brain, I knew that was a Quotable Moment™. I often wondered if Daphne had some seer in her, Like Cassie. But in any case, I took a deep breath, and followed her back inside.

Usually, after work, I get home around 5. I go water my plants, toss a meal into the microwave, and slump on the couch with a hyperfixational book or show. Maybe some grocery shopping or stopping in for a drink somewhere. After Mama died, I stopped seeing friends and going to parties. I think they were relieved, honestly. How do you invite the girl whose mother just died to anything fun? With sudden free time and almost no relationships outside of Daphne and Cassie, I went dark. I packed up the house, packed all Mama’s stuff in boxes, sold the furniture and moved away. Mama was the nymph in the family, my dad was human. His family was some rich snobby family who refused to acknowledge the “stain on the family name,” or so they said in their letter back from the funeral announcement. No support from them, then. Daphne let me keep my job and paid me more, now that there were only two of us. I found my apartment, but it’s just one room that’s mine. So I put what I had of Mama into storage, shoving all my memories into that attic.

But tonight, after I got home from work, I didn’t sit down or water my plants. I paced for a while, holding my phone in one hand and tapping the other against my leg. I don’t know whether you’re more afraid of crying or of feeling, I heard over and over again. I flipped my phone over a few times, staring out the window. Yeah. Okay. I took a long breath.

I called the storage company, and then an Uber. I grabbed a jacket, brushed dirt off my jeans, and jumped into the backseat of my White Corolla ride. The nice diver, about my age, was a human girl. She was very chatty, playing the local pop station. I tipped her as much as I could and walked very quickly to my container.

I hadn’t had much to store. They gave me a small one, more like a shed, near the front. It was cheap, as units go, so they told me. I flipped through my keys for the one to the padlock, the wind starting to kick up, whipping the dust off the gravel. I fumbled with the lock for a few minutes before suddenly realizing I was trying to use my apartment key. After a moment of reflection, I managed to get in. I was strangely nervous, as though I was meeting someone else’s mother.

I looked around. It was mostly her clothes and jewellery packed in vacuum bags (As Seen on TV!) and wrapped in fabric. My mama had this love of bangles; one whole box was dedicated to them. I never wore any, they were too hard to keep on, but Mama wore four on each arm, all the same set. She’d loved t-shirts, too. Every concert, every school either of us went to, she would get a new one. I opened the box on top. It was filled with vacuum bags - sweaters. I dug through boxes until I found the packs I was looking for; her oldest, favorite shirts, older than me, so long in her closet she’d forgotten where she’d gotten them. A black long sleeve with glittery thread woven throughout. An a bright yellow halter with a daisy pattern. A faded baseball tee with dark green edging. And the one I loved most, a green t-shirt with a velvet star in the center of the chest, about the size of my hand. I held it for a moment, then grabbed the whole bag and shoved it in my knapsack. I closed the box back up and looked at the shelves.

Up to there were plastic containers of cards and pictures. I reached up, barely able to slide them off with my fingertips. One held all the cards I’d gotten from her and vice versa over the years. The other held all the photo albums and loose pictures from frames. As I reached for it, I saw the picture pressed against the edge.

It was of Mama and I, taken with Daphne’s old film camera. We’re laughing, arms around each other, and Mama is wearing her star shirt. It was my 18th birthday, right before I went to college. I don’t know what made us laugh or what was happening, but it was Mama through and through.

For a moment, I hesitated. I could put it back, put it all back. I could lock up and go home and go to sleep, forget and just ignore. Ignoring was better than remembering, right?

“I don’t know whether you’re more afraid of crying or of feeling, girl.”

I locked up and called another rideshare. A large car this time, enough for a few boxes and a large backpack, and my decisions.

The next day, I dragged myself to work. I hadn’t slept at all. My hair was untenable, my eyes were puffy. But underneath my jacket, I had on that baseball tee. I changed my phone screen to that picture. Baby steps, I told myself. And baby steps felt okay.

I stopped at Cassie’s. Cassie herself wasn’t there, just Llana. She looked up as I came in. She raised an eyebrow in askance.

“Good morning,” I answered.

She smiled. “Good morning. The usual?”

“Yes please.”

That was all. And that felt okay too.

I walked to the flower shop, where Daphne had the heater on. I took off my jacket, and called to the back to let Daphne know I was there. I tucked my shirt into my jeans and reached for my apron. There was a small gasp from behind me.

Daphne stood in front of the office door, her eyes the size of dinner plates. She blinked a few times, and gave a shaky laugh. “My lord, girl, you look just like your mama.”

“I know,” I said, giving her an equally unsteady smile. I told her about going to the storage room as we started work. I told her how I’d gone home and the vampire roommate had helped me carry my boxes up the stairs, and offered to make me some coffee. I told her how I’d actually made myself a real drink and after politely thanking him but refusing, and looked through everything I’d brought home. I showed her the picture on my phone and told her I saved some cards. Daphne was smiling so big I was afraid she was stuck.

“This doesn’t mean I’m like, magically better, you know.” I warned her. “It’s a step, and there’s a whole mile of steps ahead of me.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, still grinning like a cat. “But you took a step, and that’s big, hon.”

I nodded, and we moved on.

The next week or so passed, and nothing changed. I didn’t go back to the storage room, but I made sure to bring out the things I’d already gotten. I put up the pictures on my wall, and the albums on my bookshelf. The shirts went in my dresser. I looked at one card every day; I was a Valentine’s Day one. Mama and I had our own tradition. We would get each other coffee and a bag of mystery chocolates, then come home and watch bad romcoms and eat it all. Mama had written in the card, “There is a lot to love in this beautiful world, but you are the most beautiful, and the most loved. I love you big, Mama.” Love you big was our thing. It was on every card, every night before bed, before every hangup. I looked at this card every day, and I started to get an idea.

In the meantime, I started talking to Llana more. She was from Spain, and she was, in fact, not human. She avoided the specifics, though, and I didn’t push it. She, in turn, asked more about me, always gauging a Morning from a Good Morning first. On the Mornings, I like to think my tea tasted just a little sweeter than normal. Not too much, but noticeable. But maybe it was psychosomatic. In any case, she always smiled at me through the window and I always nearly collided with something in front of me. I nearly dropped my cup when she laughed at a bad joke I made. Her hair clip, beautifully shining, bathed her face in a warm glow. I began to notice that even when the lights in the coffee shop were dim, and the sky was dark and cloudy, it still glowed and shimmered. It was too bright to be reflecting anything.

The next week, I went back to the storage room. I got some of Mama’s sweaters, and her old books. Curled up in an enormous sherpa jacket at home, I read through as many mythology books as I could. Nothing in any of them mentioned anything like Llana. I did steer clear of Greek though. I knew all about that anyway.

The weather, while in springtime, suddenly took a chill. I found myself wearing the sherpa to work one morning, over the lucky star shirt. I had been up most of the night, turning over the same idea from a week or two ago. I’d been putting the pieces together.

I got to Cassie’s as usual, and Llana smiled as I came in. “Good morning,” I said.

“Good morning! The usual?”

“Actually,” I said, “could I get an extra shot of courage in mine?”

“Courage?” She asked, measuring tea leaves. “Sure, what for?” She slapped a hand to her mouth. “Shit, sorry, that’s inappropriate to ask.”

“No, it’s okay,” I mumbled into my collar. “I’m taking a baby step today, but it’s actually maybe a big step? Like, it’s a good thing, but...but I gotta make sure I can get myself there, y’know?”

Llana gazed at me for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, one Oolong with a shot of focus and a shot of courage, and one chai with a shot of calm.” She dropped in the strainers and turned back to me. She leaned on the counter, and her fingers kept touching her thumb in a pattern. Nervous habit. “So,” she said, “Cassie says you’re a nymph. So you have a specialty?”

“Yeah, I’m an anthousia. Specifically flowers. That’s why I work at Daphne’s.”

“I would love to do that.” She sighed.

I smiled at her, glancing around. “What’s your favorite flower? Magic or not?”

“Hmmm. What’s that golden one? It floats, kind of looks like a bell? It’s magical, obviously.”

I almost choked on my own spit. “Sun Lanterns?”

Her face lit up. “Yes!”

I shook my head a little at the odds, then held up my hand, palm up. A sun lantern seemed to grow from my skin, twisting into being from the light around me. Llana watched with huge eyes as the little flower rose up to her eye line. I smiled at her astounded expression. She looked like she might take a step back when I held it out to her.

“Really?” She asked quietly. I nodded. She tentatively reached out across the counter and the sun lantern floated into her hand. She held it close to her face, letting out a small laugh. She sounded thrilled.

“Here.” I reached out, and touched the bloom, closing my eyes. “There, now it’ll dooooo…..that.” The lantern had floated up to rest just behind her ear, as though it were pinned in her hair.

“No way!”She ran to the other side of the bar, the length of the room. The sun lantern whizzed along with her, keeping its place. She laughed again. God, I could listen to that sound till the end of days. She looked so happy, I could feel her enthusiasm reflected in me, , and I began to feel lighter, like I would really be fully-

What, had she said something? “Ah, what?”

“I said, I think your teas are done,” she said, pointing to them on the bar.

“Oh, right.” I shook myself. Grabbing the cups, I went to leave, but suddenly, just at the door, I turned back. Llana was holding the sun lantern in her hands again, gazing at it with something like...well, a really good something.

“Hey Llana?” I asked before my brain engaged. She looked up, her face lit equally by the sun lantern and her clip. “Do you want to meet me for a drink tonight? Or a bite to eat?” I was grateful that I managed to ask with a surprising amount of composure, though admittedly at an octave higher than normal.

She didn’t move for a moment. I began to panic. But then, the most amazing thing happened.

She burst into a smile as though she was made of sunshine. She looked as though she’d been given a drink of water after a drought, finally free of uncertainty.

“Yes, oh my god I would love-” She stopped short and coughed. “I mean, yes, I’d like that. Does 6:00 work okay?”

“6 is just fine. Meet you here?” 6pm had never seemed like a better time of day.

“Okay.” She raised her hand in a wave. I gestured with a cup, backing into the door a bit too hard. Half winded, I made my way to Daphne’s in a daze.

Daphne told me the order for the day as I came in, which I barely retained. I concentrated on all the flowers (we had a wedding tomorrow, but we were dropping them off tonight, mercifully) a concoction of lilies, baby’s breath, and forget-me-nots. The bride had been very gracious and accommodating, but the mother was a nightmare. She was adamant that there be ABSOLUTELY NO MAGIC in her baby’s flowers. Some humans were wary of anything magical. A few thought magic was “dirty,” some just didn’t want to pay for the extra labor. The majority of the sticklers just wanted “normal” flowers because it was more....familiar, I guess? These humans were always very courteous and nice. This Mother of the Bride was not one of these humans. Luckily Daphne had a very thorough contract.

I took my time. All these flowers were very delicate, and took a lot of care to get just right. It was easy to overgrow them. You could shoot right past “tomorrow is peak bloom” and straight into “honey the flowers are made of fruit flies” if you weren’t very careful. Daphne made calls all day in the office. We were hitting peak wedding planning season for the end of summer through fall. She was constantly on the phone with brides, planners, and venues. I was set to deliver the flowers at four, and head home from there.

We took lunch at 11:00, and as we ate in silence I turned my question over in my mind. I could feel myself overthinking how to ask it, so when Daphne finished her salad and leaned back in her chair, I just blurted it out.

“I’m going to get a tattoo.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A tattoo?”

I jerkily nodded.

“What happened to baby steps?”

“Honestly, this feels like a baby step. Well, maybe a little bigger than a baby step, but not a real big one. It feels...good. Natural.” I rubbed my palm with a thumb.

Daphne laced her fingers over her stomach and tilted her face to the ceiling. She was quiet. I picked at the last of my lunch. I told myself she would be the best judge of my actions, and tried to wait patiently.

After the longest 30 seconds of recent history, she finally looked back at me. “Well, it seems like a big step to me, but I’m not you. If you think it’s right, and you’re sure, then it’s right.”

I let out my breath. “Thanks, Daphne.”

“At least you’re sensible. Unlike this client! Lilies?! Half her daughter’s guests will be sneezing their eyes out! And no magic? The day before?!” She shook her head. “When you get married, girl, you better keep a sane head on your shoulders.”

“Alright, who’s taking big steps now?”

I stepped into the Cat’s Cradle, the nearest magical tattoo shop. The walls were covered in pictures of their art and clients. A cat trotted out from behind a desk, meowing assertively.

“Cleo!” A woman called, running out from a closet at the back. She was small, but her muscle tone when she picked up the cat indicated she was deceptively strong. She had a young, confident face framed by a beautifully simple hijab. “Sorry, she got out of the office.”

“It’s okay.” I held out a hand for Cleo to inspect. She gave me a sniff and a small lick

“My name is Soñia,” the woman said, depositing Cleo behind the front desk and firing up the computer. “Cleo’s a comfort cat, she helps calm our clients. Walk in or appointment?”

“Um, walk in.”

“Alright, we could fit you in in about half an hour, around 4:45. Do you need to look at a design binder?” Her tone was brisk, but not impolite.

“Actually do you guys do handwriting?”

She frowned a little. “We can do both magical and non-magical handwriting, but I have to warn you that we cannot guarantee that there will be a perfectly identical match-

“How close can you get?” I cut in.

Her frown disappeared. “Damn close.”

“Good enough for me.” I pulled out the Valentines card, pointing at the line. “How about this, magically?”

Soñia waved her hand and made a pfft noise. “Simple. The same size as the card?” I nodded. “It will take an hour, possibly an hour and fifteen for the magical freeze to set. We freeze the magic so that your skin can heal. It will activate in a day or two.”

I confirmed I’d be back in half an hour and went to get a snack. It was overcast out, but it wasn’t supposed to rain until tomorrow. I sat on a bench, eating my power bar, contemplating. What a day. I did not have these kinds of days. These kinds of days happened to other people.

“Stop it.” I said to myself. “It’s just a day. Let yourself have a day.”

I got back to Cat’s Cradle at 4:45 on the dot. Soñia was rolling up a prayer mat. “Perfect timing,” she said, leaning the mat against a corner and rubbing her hands together. She picked up a stencil that was somewhat glowing. “Shall we?”

I’ll spare the details, as I didn’t watch most of it. I’ve never been a huge fan of needles, so I focused on petting Cleo. An hour and nine minutes later, I was bandaged up, part of the inside of my forearm unsettlingly numb. We’d taken an old style Polaroid of it, and I paid Soñia (with a hefty tip, because her confidence had paid off).

“It’s beautiful handwriting,” she said, printing my receipt.

“Yes,” I said, half smiling, “It was my mother’s.”

Soñia nodded, handed me my receipt, and I left. My arm around the numb part ached, but the bandage was lighter than I had thought. I still had maybe 40 minutes to get home and ready. For my date. With Llana. I almost laughed. “Wow,” I said, as I broke into a jog, “Wow.”

We met casually outside Cassie’s at about 7:01 and 29 seconds (vaguely). Llana had a pretty red peacoat on, and dark jeans and sneakers. My heart seemed to expand when I saw the sun lantern I suddenly felt underdressed somehow, even though Mama’s sparkly long sleeve and high waist green corduroys were perfectly matching the look. A confident, cool outfit. I was desperately hoping it worked.

We went to a small bistro down the street. Luck was with us, and we were shown to a table in front of the window. Our server was a nice guy, took our coffee and tea orders and bustled off.

“So,” I said as the espresso machine blasted, “How long have you worked at Cassie’s?”

“About 3 months ago. I started with closing shifts, but I’m more of a morning person, She drank some of her water, looking at me closely over the rim. I noticed her hair clip was silver now, still strongly lit. “I like it here. This city is so…” she gestured widely, “Open? That’s not right. I can breathe here.”

“I know what you mean.” I glanced down at the table, tracing the line of the napkin with my finger. “It seems like it’s built to be comforting.”

“Yes!” She pointed at me. “Precisely. I used to live in New York, in Manhattan. If you breathe there, you get like 5 years of second-hand smoke and carbon emissions.” I laughed. “Are you from here?”

I nodded. “Yeah, born and raised. My mama was from LA, but I’ve been here my whole life. Daphne and my mom were old friends, so she gave me a job. Besides, growing flowers is easy for an anthousia.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Llana said this in a way that seemed touchingly interested, not concerned or condescending.

I thought for a moment. “You know, I don't really know. I went to school for web design, but I haven’t taken it anywhere since-” Don’t drop the dead-mother bombshell on the first date - “since I graduated. But working at Daphne’s is peaceful, and it pays well.”

“Web design is complicated, yes? Computer code and all that?”

“It is. It’s absolutely maddening. But when you get it to work and look just right…” I shrugged. “So satisfying.”

She leaned her chin on the heel of her hand, drumming her fingertips on her cheek. “I never went to college. What is it like?”

For the next half hour I explained everything: semester versus quarter systems, dorm life, majors and minors, all of it. I told her I shared a room with three other girls and she wrinkled her nose. “That sounds so cramped!”

“It was, but we all got along, more or less. Can I ask why you didn’t go?”

She waved her other hand dismissively. “Oh, the village school would never have given us college as an option. We were in the middle of nowhere, many families had been there since before Isabella and Ferdinand. We made our living off the land. And my family in particular wanted nothing to do with the outside world.”

“Village? Not New York?”

“I grew up in Spain, the region of Asturias . I probably should have said that,” she said, rubbing her neck. “Sorry. I’m kind of nervous.”

“Don’t worry; me too.” I smiled and held out my hand. She smiled back and tentatively took it. Her hand was warm. “You don’t have to go into it, if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out audibly, as though she had been holding her breath. Her hair clip seemed to get brighter. “What were you thinking of ordering?”

“Hmmm,” I hummed, casually glancing over the menu as though my stomach wasn’t eating itself.

I found I liked to learn things about her. I liked her explaining something while showing parts of herself. I learned she held her coffee cup (by the handle, not the body) in one hand while gesticulating with the other. I learned she liked bacon in her potato soup, and that she treated waitstaff with the utmost respect when she said thank you at least three times. I learned she loved portraiture, because her eyes crinkled from her slight smile when she talked about it.

The whole evening was nice. She asked if we could split the bill, and that was perfect to me. We paid and she finished her water and we got up to leave.

“I can walk you home if you like,” I said as we stood outside and she buttoned her coat.

She smiled. “I would like.” Her eyebrows knit together for a moment. “I’m trying to think of a smooth way to ask to hold your and again.”

Oh my god. “It’s all yours,” I said, offering it. She grinned so big I wanted to laugh.

She lived just outside downtown, on the opposite end from me. We walked for about 5 minutes, looking into shops on our way. As we turned left off of the big street, I finally had the nerve to say, “Your hair clip is really beautiful.”

“Mmm,” she said. She was quiet for a minute. I was on the verge of apologising for bringing it up when she sighed. “Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude. I suppose you ought to know.”

Now my eyebrows were the ones knitting. “Know what?”

“Well, I don’t usually tell people what kind of being I am, because there are a lot of people who...who would rather we didn’t exist at all. People who listen to rumors with their eyes closed.” Her eyes were fixed on the sidewalk.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a Xanas.” She said this as though flinging the word from around a barricade.

I blinked. “I...I don’t know what a Xanas is.”

Llana jerked her face up to look at me. “Really?” I shook my head. Relief flooded her face. “A Xanas is Asturian magic. We’re all women, all blonde, and we manipulate fortune. There are ugly stories of us throughout the ages. Switching human babies with our own changelings, stealing money, seducing men to their deaths, killing human women in our way. In Spain, we are persecuted. My village is one of the only safe places left. We are deeply tied to the land, so many of us will never leave. But all we do is manipulate luck and fortune, and make things beautiful: art, nature, ourselves.”

I turned this information over in my mind. I knew that story, my father’s actions had told it to me a thousand times. I squeezed Llana’s hand. “I don’t put much stock in rumors, and my eyes are wide open. Besides, stealing a child? In this economy?” She laughed, and I was proud. “But what about the hair clip?”

“Oh, right. All Xanas have them. They’re made of sunlight and moonlight.”

“Can I?”

She tilted her head. I waved my hand, my fingers passing through the beams. They danced and flickered against my skin. “Incredible,” I whispered.

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

We’d made it to her street, and arrived at her house. It was a small brick townhouse, with red stairs, a small porch, and a white door. I must have looked surprised, because Llana grinned mischievously at me. “A Xanas does have a way of running into good fortune. An eccentric aunt of mine left Spain when I was ten. She owned this house, and passed away right before I turned 18. She left it to me in her will. We were always close. It’s why I moved here.”

“Damn,” I said. “I’ve just got an apartment!”

We looked at each other for a moment. “It was really lovely,” she said as I blurted out, “I had a great time.” We laughed nervously, and she squeezed my hand.

“Can we do this again?” She asked.

“I’d love that.” I’d almost never wanted anything more.

“Tomorrow! Here. I’ll cook.”

I was smiling so hard my face was sore. “Tomorrow is perfect.”

She ran up the stairs with a sudden burst of nervous energy, and I turned and walked back towards downtown, and home. But just as I reached the end of the block, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Llana running up, skidding to atop in front of me.

“One more thing,” she said breathlessly, and suddenly we were kissing, and everything was alright. Everything was cool and calm, and for one moment, I forgot everything in the world except this. Except Llana. And when we broke apart, and everything began again, I found it was brighter, and more valuable, just for having Llana in it.

Nothing is ever more jolting than your alarm going off during REM sleep. I would’ve flown upright, had my arm not been securely trapped under a sleeping girl. I gazed at her sleepily for a minute, soaking in her light.

It had been two years since that kiss. I still worked for Daphne (hence the alarm), but with her and Llana’s help I had also secured an internship as a local web design company. Llana was taking fine arts classes at a studio. We were busy and exhausted. We were so happy.

I carefully shifted Llana off my arm, grabbing a sweater as I eased the door open. I’d moved in with Llana six months ago, and now I boiled my tea in a decent kitchen and drank it in front of beautiful windows. I’d had the picture of Mama and I framed, and it sat on the end table of the couch. Llana loved that picture. I’d told her about Mama on our second date, and about how I was (not) coping. Llana asked gentle questions, and held my hand. And when I went to the burial plot on Mama’s birthday, I found bright yellow flowers and a note - “To Delphi, from Llana. Thank you.” I cried my heart out for an hour.

Now I leaned against the window frame, whispering to the picture. “I know you’re watching, Mama. You love her, I hope. Maybe you do, somewhere, where you are. I hope you’re proud.” I paused, thinking of the little box hidden in my sock drawer. “It’s two years, today. I got it all worked out. Simple, though, I’m not overthinking. Daphne keeps teasing me about baby steps.” I looked at my face, happy in a black past, and now. “I miss you, Mama. I love you big.”

I looked quickly down at my tattoo, Mama’s scrawl appeared, writing out, “I love you big, Mama,” the ‘big’ underlined for just a moment. It only happened once in a while. Soñia had explained to me that sometimes, a person’s magic can influence a tattoo of them. I smiled, Mama heard me, somewhere, and she was happy.

I heard shuffling behind me. Llana came out of our room, clutching her favorite blanket around her. Her hair was a mess, but as the early morning light fell on it, it began to straighten and unknot. She was so beautiful in the early, foggy light. Any light.

“Hey, you,” I said, holding out my arms. Llana shuffled into them, snuggling against my shoulder. “Good morning.”

She smiled up at me, eyes half closed, and my stomach swooped. I thought again of that little box, and the ring inside, and was more decided than ever. I wanted to get coffee after work with her every afternoon and hear about her class. I wanted to make her breakfast and dinner, and sun lanterns every day. I wanted to wake up every morning for the rest of my life to hear her say;

“Good morning, Joy.”

Buy me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/badgerpride

-–

For more Content, check out @contentcreatorshaven or www.contentcreatorshaven.com! We are a creator collective dedicated to helping each other make it in this very crazy world.

#writing #short story #badger scribbles #i swear when i had this idea it was short #I'm so tired plz help #magic

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therkalexander · 6 years ago

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The Good Counselor - Chapter 3

Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone’s efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain. But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give them all that they have ever dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

**partial chapter**

Please visit The Good Counselor on AO3 to read in full.

Chapter 3

The ether rushed around her in a twist of silver and crimson and she emerged in the great atrium of her villa in Thesprotia. It had been abandoned for generations when Persephone had found it, and was said to be filled with the ghosts of the extinguished House of Aeolus.

Persephone knew better.

If any spirits remained, she would have wrenched them from this world already. She herself had sentenced three of that wicked family to Tartarus, Sisyphus chief among them.

Willows overhung the entire house, shielding it from the main road that led to the sea. It was modest, a short ways from the city of Cichyrus. A copse of bedraggled cypresses marked the path leading to the entrance, and thistles grew thick around the door. To the idly passing eyes of the outside world, this place was as uninhabited as it was foreboding.

But inside, it was paradise. Roses climbed the walls of the atrium garden and crocus blanketed the floor, growing through every crack in its deteriorating mosaic. A pomegranate tree— planted by Aidoneus on his first visit to their home in the world above— grew in the very center, shading a large oak stump beneath it. It was here that she found him turning a fruit over in his palm. It hadn’t come from this tree— it was only starting to blossom. This fruit came from the lands below, from their sacred grove at the entrance to Elysion. He set it down and stood.

Persephone picked up her skirts and rushed to him. He gripped her waist and she felt her feet tilt off the ground as he lifted her level with his face. Their lips met, and she sighed, melting into him. His joy and eagerness flooded into her, mellowed by tenderness and spiked with lust, warmed with relief.

And a metallic undertone of trepidation.

She eased back. “Is something troubling you?”

“No. Not yet,” he said, setting her down. “Did you take care of it?”

“He’s gone. His court is dispersed, and Minthe is by her mother’s side.” He scowled at the mention of her name. Placing the remains of the annihilated nymph by her mother’s grave had been Persephone’s idea. Hades had been less forgiving when they’d discussed it. “How is everything back home?”

“Empty as ever when you aren’t there, sweet one. How was this year’s planting?”

“The same as ever.” She hooked her arm into his and leaned in as they walked the walled garden paths. She quivered at the contact. It had been two months since her fingers had been upon his skin. She could feel his pulse and the warmth of his flesh. He smelled of raw earth, of cypress, and the cool waters— everything she missed about Chthonia. The Underworld. Her true home. Persephone glanced up and caught him chewing the inside of his lip. His mind was distant, but she knew he would eventually reveal where. She let him ruminate while she spoke. “A bit less grain to sow this year, though. She was so anxious last harvest, it affected everything.”

“Your mother needs to stop worrying after her paramour.”

“I’ve told her as much. But can you even call Triptolemus that anymore? They share the Telesterion, but more as friends than lovers. They haven’t shared a bed since—”

“I regret mentioning it,” he muttered hastily.

“Ah.” She fidgeted. “Hermes may have picked up Minoan.”

“What?”

“Unless you told him that Bellerophon broke his family’s curse and was granted a place in Elysion.”

Aidoneus gritted his teeth. “Damn him and his meddling…”

“I knew it! I knew he was lying. He denied reading your last letter to me, but how else would he know?”

“I’ll have a word with him.”

“What if that’s not the extent of it? What if he tells them about this place?”

“He won’t. I made him swear on the Styx.”

Persephone turned to him. “If the mortals know that you— that we spend time here, there will be endless interruptions. They’ll stop sowing crops. Some will leave, and the rest will build a gaudy temple. And the favors and quests of the rustic gods and hemitheoi—”

“They’ll do no such thing because Hermes will keep his mouth shut.”

“Will he?”

“He will. He takes Stygian oaths seriously.”

“How will we send letters and parcels to each other now?” A shiver rolled through her as he cupped her face with his hand.

“Perhaps I should hand-deliver them.” Aidon leaned down and gave her the lightest, slowest of kisses. His dark eyes locked onto hers as he pulled back. “Though there’s something else I’m intent on giving you presently.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She threw her arms around his neck and collided with him, kissing him gracelessly in return, their teeth clicking together. He chuckled low and traced her spine with his fingertips.

“Eager, are we?”

“Come,” Persephone whispered. “Let me show you what I’ve been up to this season.”

Aidoneus picked up the half pomegranate and followed her up the stairs. “A full season of sowing and still you found the time?”

“Barely enough. I vanished just after Thesmophoria to spend a few hours here alone, and I think Mother is starting to suspect—”

Aidon kissed away the name. The last person he wanted to think about right now was Demeter. He inhaled Persephone’s scent of roses and lilac, larkspur and irises. “This is my time with you. And no one else. Not Hermes, not your mother…”

Not Orpheus? Her voice rang through his head.

Aidon stopped. Did she knew where he had been? That he had spoken to the hymnist?

“His name was in your mind. Were you thinking about what Eumolpus said? Do you think…”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed again, sweet one,” he interrupted sharply. “I can’t bear it. Not after last time.”

She nodded.

He needed to distract her, or his visit to Samothrace would come pouring out unbidden. And going further down that road would only raise her hopes fruitlessly. Especially if she knew he was motivated enough to speak to Orpheus himself. “I practiced a flower while I waited for you.”

Persephone smiled. “You did?”

Their hieros gamos had not only created Elysion, but— to their mutual delight— had conferred upon each other some of their unique talents. Persephone had even called up iron from the earth seven winters ago. “Watch, sweet one.”

Aidoneus concentrated on the ground before him, and felt the beating warm life rush through him, from his feet upward. Each time he tried it he marveled. This must be what she had felt throughout her lifetime each time she created a new living thing. At first he’d worried that he would taint life itself if he tried to imitate her— that his efforts would result in a blight simply because of who he was. But they were the Gods of the Earth, he remembered, one and the same, infinitely bound and part of each other. He closed his eyes, feeling the telltale pulse in first his abdomen and rising through his chest as a bulb grew, opened, and split the ground. The stalk shot upright, bursting at the tip into a purple iris. He heard clapping and opened his eyes. Persephone exhaled softly, her hand gripping her hips. “My favorite part,” she said, “is feeling it move through you.”

“‘It’?”

“The earth, everything I have ever called up in— it’s hard to give it a name. More of a feeling. But it moves so… differently through you.”

“And you can sense every bit of… it.” He already knew the answer.

Of course I can, her voice rang, stronger this time. She turned and started strolling through the palace, showing him a centuries-old tapestry she’d found in the collapsed storage room, the vibrant ochres and deep blues sealed away and saved from the ravages of sun and wind. She picked up her skirts and climbed the stairs to the gynaikeion, giving him a glimpse of her ankles and mud stained feet. Aidon followed, listening to her describe how she’d made it into a place fit for them to sleep, to make love…

“Aidon?”

He smiled. “I was distracted. Forgive me.”

She bit coyly at her lip. “It’s similar, but just a single room. I thought black fleeces would work, but they’re hard to find in the world above. Used for sacrifices too often to…”

“To me.”

“So they seldom sell them to anyone but priests. It took me a bit of searching, but I eventually found what I needed.”

“How?”

“An agora in Locri. They were guarded at first, especially since I’m a woman. But no one asked questions after the gold came out. I suppose it helps when your husband is the richest being in the cosmos,” she said.

Aidon laughed. He looked up, and instead of the familiar dome patterned with stars, this flat ceiling was covered with tiny jasmine blooms— their growth carefully trained and arranged to reflect the summer sky. One vine wound toward the center, marking the tail of the Scorpion, and another the bow of the Lyre.

The Lyre… had she chosen this grouping of stars for a reason? He pushed it from his wandering mind. Aidon wanted to peel Persephone’s clothes off and press skin to skin, to seat himself as deeply within her as he could. But he also wanted to give her due respect as she showed him the work she’d done since they last met here.

This, he realized, was why he was creating these nervous distractions. But her breath was hitching, and he could feel her skin warming and prickling every time she glanced at him, could feel the flutter in her abdomen as though it were his own, and hear the slight tremble in her voice. His wife was being coy. Stalling. She wanted him to make the first move, the first touch. He would torture her a moment longer.

As Persephone drew closer to the fleece covered divan, his gaze rested on her hips, the pins that held her peplos taut over her skin, and the ornate girdle he had timidly left as a gift in her chamber on the fifth day he’d known her. How different it was now. Her back was turned. He plucked a seed from the pomegranate and held it under his tongue. He was as impatient for her touch as she was for his.

Aidoneus flicked his wrist, and fibulae scattered to all corners of the room. The girdle fell muffled in the heap of fabric, and Persephone gave startled gasp. He chuckled, ambling toward her as the rest of the peplum slinked from her breasts, her only adornment the flowery crown she wore in the spring and summer. Her blue-grey eyes were wide with shock and her hands instinctively covered her breasts and mons.

“It is good to know,” he said, stepping free of his own clothes, “that after all these years I can still surprise you.”

“I-I…” The blush creeping up her neck told him all he needed to know.

One piece of cloth remained, the only one not held by pins. Aidon reached behind and untied his loincloth by hand and let it drop to the floor. He gripped the half pomegranate in one hand and lifted the crown from her head with the other, then casually tossed the woven flowers aside. Aidon could feel the heat of her even through the half a pace between them. Her heels and chin lifted up so she was level with him, her eyes were lidded and her lips neared his. She relished in his guttural groan as she brushed her hand up his hip, his stomach and chest. “You’ll have to put that down.”

“Oh, will I?” He smiled and lifted the ripe fruit between them.

“What else do you plan to do with it?” She took a step back.

“Kiss me, wife, and find out.”

* * * * * *

Author's Note: Due to site Terms of Service and FOSTA-SESTA, I am no longer able to publish unabridged mature content here. To read the full scene, please continue reading The Good Counselor on AO3.

#hades and persephone #hades x persephone #the good counselor #mythology #Greek Mythology

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thesweetblossoms · 6 years ago

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The Palo Santo Hours

☁️My earliest memories of perfume are of my aunts YSl Poison perfume that she would mist before special occasions, or the dreamy weight and reality of my mother’s beloved Chanel No.5, that she would display on her dressing table and use in private; using perfume, was a personal ritual I seldom saw her perform, but realized was a delightful element of her daily experience, from the varied levels of dissipating bottles of her perfume collection, as well the joy with which she received new perfumes from my father, family and friends as treasured gifts. Thus from an early age, I understood perfume to be a carefully cultivated, individual, savored and sensual feminine art, and I appreciated the gorgeously designed baccarat crystal bottles, the lyrical titles and labels, and the luscious amber, or celery green, or blue topaz liquid inside, as powerful magical implements at our disposal, used to transform ourselves, to carry and italicize the moment, to convey a mood, temperament or idea, or to musically tantalize and catapult us to the ecstatic limits of conscious experience.

My grandparents linger in space and time for me within the world of smell and perfume, when I graze my hand against cobalt blue lavender, reminding me of my grandmothers Yardley Lavender perfume, or my grandfathers Old Spice after shave, a vintage gem, that my husband also wore for a long time before switching to a natural lavender scent. My paternal grandmother remains suspended in the smell of clean cotton saris, or of herbal, betel leaves of her chewing paan, or sweetly aromatic from the spicy and creamy chai she would brew.

Sunflowers, by Elizabeth Arden was the perfume that every sixteen year old girl longed for at my school, the year cast between our burgeoning understanding of becoming women while also also balancing our impending Cambridge O Level exams, extracurriculars, friendships, social dynamics and the fluidly approaching futures. I remember one of my good friends, an ambassadors daughter (an overwhelmingly majority of my girlfriends are from diplomatic families, due to my international upbringing), telling me about the perfume and sampling it at one of the few shops selling perfume in Dhaka at the time. Later, I remember, one of the first perfumes I received as a gift, Light Blue by Dolce Gabbana, a captivating and delicate scent that I loved to admire, even if I never fell unequivocally in love with the scent.

I realize that I enjoy singular notes, learning to identify the characteristics of different olfactory molecules, as I learn to mix my own perfume oils and floral waters. So often, in the morning while rushed for work, I drop jasmine essential oil onto my pulse points, or on other days, I add a few drops of rose or vanilla. It is appealing to consider, that I will not resemble anybody else in the subtlest realms, creating my own unique signature with the concentration, depth or application of selected favorites oils such as ylang, ylang, bergamot or neroli.

The spicy, living, slightly minty, incomparable and healing fragrance of Sydney eucalyptus growing along the shore by Bondi beach are indelible memories of my earliest childhood in Australia. I yearn to be around eucalyptus trees, luckily, as I am now, with my balcony garden perched in a desert between valleys, with a stooped, twinkling and charismatic eucalyptus growing next to our bedroom window, or prior to these years in Phoenix, by sprinkling its essential oil into steamy shower water, in home made facial masks, or in sturdy bowls of boiling water to inhale while suffering a cold.

While, later as a little girl, I remember the perfume of my fathers garden roses, in the brief growing season in Toronto, along with the lilac bushes as well as the dreamy peonies in his front patch, the lush and tantalizingly magical summers in Ontario saturated in vivacious light and the bewitching atmospheric ambiance of mature and fragrant tree canopies.

Also, whenever I think of my most intense recent memories of singular, hypnotic and intoxicating perfumes, I remember the poetically opening cups of magnolia in my aunts garden in Bengal; staying at her house in one of the oldest neighborhood’s in Dhaka and waking up to see fallen magnolias, as well as newly rendered blossoms still attached to the tree, before pulling them off to bury my nose into their compelling, creamy, sugary, seductive and mysterious scent.

Cuisine and perfume are as entangled as filaments are to stars, thus the edible experiences, that are the most enticing and happy, are frequently, the ones that bombard multiple senses while dissolving themselves softly into the subconscious. For myself, these include the intensely pleasurable initial nibbles into my grandmothers mini coconut pies, the burned coconuts, redolent of an elevated, tropical paradise, or the blanched almonds, rose water and palm sugar in my mothers creamy Shahi Tukra desserts, the cold and delicious bite of pistachio and cardamom kulfi, or the hints of vanilla, in my aunts baked crème caramel puddings. Being mindful of the lasting connection of fragrance and memory, I try to embed there lyrical notes into the food I prepare for my children, such as lemon zested madeleines, or quarters of navel oranges, or blue berry waffles with maple syrup.

My childhood memories of scent include thef floral bouquets grown at our families jute mills. Whenever our band of cousins would visit the factory, we would spend time, playing with baby goats and puppies, fishing in the pond, or running around the gardens, but after each trip, the factory managers would present us with huge bouquets of flowers tied with the jute twine, so whenever I pick up a piece of twine I remember the bales or freshly woven jute and the luscious and sun drenched bundles of marigolds, roses and tuberose that we would carry back to the city.

Sometimes perfume lingers within us, familiar yet still to be experienced, this happens when we read about certain scents, such as the numerous mentions of lemon verbena in Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind. I found it so elegant and charming to hear Scarlett’s O Hara’s mother described as a southern lady with impeccable manners, who always lingered in a cloud of lemon verbena from her garden. It wasn’t until much later I encountered the romantic notes of the herb, when buying a plant from the farmers market in old town Toronto. Rubbing a leaf, releasing the oils in the air drew the world of the antebellum south closer to me as the particular song of its green leaves wandered into the present air.

These days, many of my leisure hours are perfumed with flowers I bring in from my tiny balcony garden, spicy Thai basil, miniature roses, tuberose, jasmine, black eyed Susan’s, orange tree branches and more, these duel with the Palo Santo sticks I light hopefully, meditatively, often in prayer, sometimes in solace, seeking answers, or mining deeper into dreams or attempting to pierce the fragile threads that clothe reality, the perfumed smoky notes, from scarlet lit burning wood attempting to cross threadbare barriers to reveal the obscured truths. 🎹

#design #healing #lifestyle #love #gypsy #style #bohemian #flowers #perfume #wellness #ideas #magic #alchemy #bliss #fashion #pleasure #travel #memories

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kashmiresims · 8 years ago

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Just Evelyn

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It had been a week since she had dinner at the Ambassador's home, but Evelyn Jane still felt very annoyed at what had transpired. She could have been soaking in the rays on a beach in Kashmire Point if it weren't for her father volunteering her to be a tour guide for the Ambassador.

She begrudgingly held the doorbell down so it rang obnoxiously on repeat. The Butler greeted her cordially, seeming to pretend that the noise didn't bother him.

"I'm supposed to show the Ambassador around the city," she explained. How annoying that he wasn't ready yet. Wasting her time.

"The Ambassador is on the top terrace, he requests your presence," the Butler motioned upward. Evelyn Jane did not hide her irritation as she began to climb the spiral staircase, then the next, finally a straight one before emerging back into the sunlight. The terrace was enormous and contained a full zen garden, along with the ever-present abundant plant-life.

Her fixed scowl lifted, though, as soon as she saw that the Ambassador was playing fetch with his dog. He smiled as she approached, "Good morning, Miss Orbinson!"

He really did have impeccable style, this time adorned in a green vest over a collared white shirt with the top button undone. She had to respect a man who could dress so well.

The dog trotted up and dropped his stick at his master’s feet. Then, started barking playfully at seeing her; he bounded up to her and stood on his hind paws while putting his front ones on her dress. She let out a garbled noise of protest and maneuvered herself away.

The Ambassador snapped something in Takemizese to the dog and it sat down obediently.

"My apologies, Sebastian is quite excited to see you."

Evelyn Jane wiped at her dress, there was not much damage done anyhow, the dog had clean paws. She bent down and stroked Sebastian, he was a very fluffy animal, "It's all right, I was just startled."

"I'm glad to see you as well. I have something for you before we start our day on the town," he said and led her down the series of terraces, back through the kitchen and out to a balcony where a low table and some floor cushions sat.

The Ambassador dropped to his knees onto one of the cushions and indicated for her to join.

She reluctantly did the same but was growing more and more impatient.

He picked up the teapot at the center of the table and poured some of its contents into the small cups in front of them. "This tea is a recipe from my own house.It’s very special and one of Takemizu’s best kept secrets. I want you to try it."

She lifted the cup into her hands and saw he was waiting to observe her reaction. She was much more of a coffee drinker—and to be honest, she never had a tea that she liked. The ones she had tried in the past were bland and weak. The steam that rose off her cup smelled wonderful, though. The fragrance was of honey and jasmine. She carefully took a sip of the hot beverage and considered it, licking a drop of it off her bottom lip. It tasted surprisingly delightful. Her lips broke into a smile and she took another.

"Do you like it?"

"It's the best tea I've ever had."

He laughed before taking a drink of his own cup and said, "You flatter me."

She shook her head, "I mean it. I don’t even like tea."

"Truly?" His brows rose in disbelief and an expression of pity crossed his features.

She nodded and they sat in a comfortable silence while listening to morning birds in the trees. After a few more moments she finished the contents of her cup. He did the same and stood, holding out his hand for her to take and stand as well. She did so and thanked him.

"Now, where are we off to?"

"This is Summer Gardens," Evelyn Jane gestured around them to the many flowering bushes and trimmed hedges that made up the landscape. A giant fountain stood before them too, shooting off vertical jets of water in no particular pattern.

The Ambassador took in a breath and closed his eyes before opening them again, "This place is beautiful, thank you for taking me here."

She wore a knowing smirk. Of course, he'd love it considering twenty-five percent of his home here in Kashmire contained plant life. They began to move around the pathways as she explained more about the garden.

"It was added to the city fifteen years ago. It can be rented out for private garden parties or weddings. During public hours, musicians may come and perform and community easels are set up for leisurely artistic pursuits as long as you bring your own canvas," she rambled off some facts she had looked up online prior to deciding to take him there. She spoke in the manner of an emotionless tour guide, like the GPS voices one would have in their car.

"Which is your favorite part?"

"Excuse me?"

"Of this garden?"

"I don't have one," she replied honestly. This was the first time she'd actually stepped foot in the gardens.

"We'll have to change that," he smiled, and then it widened at seeing something behind her. He brushed past her and stood in front of a few bushes containing bright blue-hued blooms. "This is my favorite plant—the blue hydrangea. It's a Takemizu native."

She didn't doubt it. She had seen bundles of the blooming flower in just about every flower bed at his mansion.

"There is a folk tale behind these flowers,” The Ambassador reached out and touched the velvety blue petals. “There was an Empress of an ice kingdom, she was also sorceress with unlimited powers and she became desolate for nothing grew in her land, no matter how much she tried to use her power to grow it. A druid entered her kingdom one day and told her the secret to growing life wasn't in power but love. The druid agreed to stay and teach her, she fell in love with them and that’s when she finally understood it. Alas, the druid fell ill and died from the harsh, cold, climate. When she cried over their grave, the blue hydrangea sprouted - her tears held her love, and the blue represents the ice she used to have in heart that had melted into the spring.”

Evelyn Jane didn’t comment that she thought love was a joke, but simply gave a feigned smile and continued leading him through the gardens. He stopped and sat down on a wooden bench in front of the Takemizu botanical plants.

"Ah, this feels a little bit like home," he mused, propping his head beneath his hand and resting his arm on the back of the bench. Evelyn Jane pulled her hands behind her back and stared at the tiny landscaped area containing two bonsai trees and more plants she recognized from his mansion.

He looked up to her, "Could this be your favorite?"

"It's pretty," she admitted. She didn't need to engage in more conversation than needed. This wasn't a date no matter how much her father wanted it to be. She’d was only there to answer his questions and give him information about Memosa Bay.

"Is there anything you are passionate about Miss Orbinson?"

She had once been passionate about music, specifically classical. She had enjoyed attending symphonies and playing violin recitals. Nowadays she could barely stand to pick up her violin because of the memories it brought on. Memories of Shaun Piper and the reminder of the power he held over her. Her passion had been the path to her current, most undesirable predicament.

"No, not really," she replied evenly.

"That is a shame. Please sit," he gestured to the empty spot on the bench. She took his invitation and sat down next to him. "I promised you last week that I'd tell you how I got the ambassadorship to Kashmire.”

That was something she was interested to know. Her gaze went from the flowers to his face in sudden curiosity. It was probably the first time she had met his eyes that day. There was nothing but genuine kindness in them.

"My father wanted me to study abroad, but I was bull-headed and refused to leave my home region. He allowed me to finish school in Takemizu on the condition that I become ambassador to Kashmire until I am ready to run for his office. Though to be honest, I don't think I'll ever be. I rather despise politics."

On some level, Evelyn Jane could agree with that sentiment. If she hadn’t been blackmailed by Shaun Piper, she would have thrived on playing the political game. "So how did he get you an appointment as ambassador?"

He looked mildly amused at her ignorance, "It certainly doesn’t take many strings to be pulled for the grand chancellor of Takemizu to grant his son any appointment he wishes."

It suddenly made obvious sense. She could have cringed at her inattention to details. Bao was the political family name equal to her own in the Takemizu Region. No wonder her parents were so keen on trying to make him a match for her. She had heard of the family before but didn't connect it with him. She had always imagined members of the Bao family to be stuffy and pompous. He definitely was not.

"You're Yuzan Bao, aren't you?"

"The one and the same," he smiled, “You may call me Zan if we are to be friends.”

She had taken him to the Top of the World. It was a restaurant chain that coveted the highest spot in every city in the region to build upon so that it could boast the best views. Admittedly, from where they were sitting the view of the bay was terrific but she still thought Yuzan’s mansion had the best view she’d ever seen.

He sat across from her at a table with the backdrop of Memosa Bay skyscrapers. After the gardens, she took him to the Cross Corner district and then the shopping plaza. He had gotten hungry and asked her to take him to her favorite restaurant in the city.

Yuzan was fairly easy-going. Kind of a dork when it came to plants, but humble and endearing all the same. He was the type of guy Evelyn Jane would have chewed up and spit out when she was a teenager. Nice men had always seemed so dull to her, lacked ambition and bite, which is why she was surprised she had actually started to like Yuzan’s company. It was sort of refreshing after so many years with Shaun as a companion. It turned out Shaun Piper was something she bit off more than she could chew.

“What’s your favorite dish?” he asked.

“Salmon,” Evelyn Jane replied. Yuzan ordered them both a plate when the waitress came to take their order and insisted he would pay. It was too much. This wasn’t a date, he was being too nice--she wasn’t supposed to enjoy being around him.

They discussed the restaurant more and Evelyn Jane explained why it was called what it was. Yuzan listened intently, seeming to soak up every piece of information like a sponge to water.

“I have to ask you something,” she announced abruptly. He tipped his head forward, indicating she should continue, “Did my father imply anything about me...being single?”

He smiled, “Your father happened to mention he had children about my age, and I do desire to make friends here in Kashmire that aren’t elders, politicians, or both.”

She felt foolish. She had assumed her father was trying to match them up but really it was only to give the Ambassador a chance to befriend someone his own age.

“Since you just did imply you were single, there is something I must ask,” he continued. She was too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“What?”

“Would you be amiable to going on a date with me sometime?”

She snapped her eyes to his face, seeing his hopeful smile, and was rendered speechless. She hadn’t been on a real date for years. She’d had a few fun nights over with college men once in a blue moon--but nothing ever serious, and trysts with Shaun were contained to his penthouse and they never went in public together.

Their food arrived then, Yuzan gave a small shrug and shook his napkin out before placing it in his lap, “Think about it, and let me know.”

As dusk descended upon them, Evelyn Jane transported the ambassador back to his mansion in her convertible. She walked him to the door and then bid him farewell in the foyer.

"Miss Orbinson, it was a pleasure," Yuzan leaned forward into a deep bow before taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. He kissed the back of it.

Evelyn suddenly felt breathless. It had been a long time since a man had that effect on her. She may have even been blushing.

"You...You're welcome," she stuttered and tried to get a hold of herself, taking her hand back "and you don't have to refer to me as Miss Orbinson. ‘Evelyn Jane’ is just fine."

"Why not just 'Evelyn'?"

Evelyn had always been her great-grandmother. Her family took to appending her middle name to differentiate the two, though considering her great-grandmother had been dead since before she was born, it probably wouldn't be too confusing to start going by ‘Evelyn’ only.

"If you want, that's fine too," she determined.

"Very well, Evelyn, have you given my question any further consideration?"

Being addressed as just 'Evelyn' made her feel slightly different. It had a sophisticated, timeless, beautiful ring to it as a singular name. More like a woman, less like a school girl. The question at hand he was referring to was if she’d go on a date with him. She had thought about it—Yuzan was intriguing, attractive, and very kind—anyone would be lucky to receive attention from him.

But it was complicated.

She sighed, "I'm not interested in dating at this time but I'd be glad to show you more of Kashmire if you were up for it. Today was...nice."

He nodded with a small smile in understanding, "It was. Let's plan to do this again next week, shall we say...Saturday?"

"The day of the election? I think my father wants us both at his election party."

"Good point, it had slipped my mind. You're right, he did invite me," Yuzan rubbed his chin and thought about it, "How about Sunday then? The results, no matter what they are, shouldn’t be too much of a distraction the day after."

She agreed. She would take him on another tour in a week. She wasn't new to Kashmire like the Ambassador, but to be honest, Evelyn could use a friend just as much as Zan did.

#ts2 #sims 2 #kashmiresims #nov arc #sims 2 story #my shots

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