generated with meta.ai.
“Sshh Beaulah. Listen closely. Can you hear the flowers speaking? They are whispering about which of them is going to bless my mortar with their incredible scents and juices.” Aliyah tickled her daughter.
“Stop it, Mother! Flowers and plants can’t speak.” Beaulah chuckled and snuggled closer to her mother for a good night kiss. “So why do you not speak to them?”
“Beaulah, we come from a clan of scent whisperers. I'm a first-generation scents whisperer. I do not possess that power. But perhaps you, my child, will have the gift of whispers. It is manifested in the second generation.” Aliyah kept a straight face.
“So now we are scent whisperers. Last week we were of dragon blood and the day before we were elves and last…..”
“Okay, now Beaulah. It is time for bed.” Her mother playfully cut her mini-speech. “I love you Beaulah.”
“I love you too Mother.” Beaulah roused with the words coming out of her mouth like a whisper.
She had been dreaming a lot about her mother lately and she liked it. It always made her feel connected. It had been six years since she passed but Beaulah never felt a void in her heart. The entire house lingered on Aliyah’s scents and nostalgia. It was a gentle reminder of what a remarkable life she lived and how much impact she had on Beaulah’s life.
“Hello, reality.” she blurted. Thinking about the upcoming annual scent fair in Scentia town, Beaulah’s eyes popped in excitement as she hurriedly prepared for the day.
She set some fresh flowers down, threw an apron over her head, and snatched its strings to her waist. Packing her hair in a bun, she let out a giggle. She couldn't wait to try out her new recipe. “I'm going to sell out this year. These collections would be best sellers.” she twirled the flay of her A-line dress.
“Two rose petals, three lavender, one drop of vanilla essence, a pinch of…..” Grinning, Beaulah clipped the petals off a bunch of flowers as they dropped onto her mini mortar. She didn't mind that the stalks fell in.
Beaulah began to pound. She felt a little resistance from the pestle, and then the ingredients. She always did. It felt like they had a mind of their own and they didn't want to mix. Still, Beaula ignored it and went on combining. The mixture diffused into the air and it began to smell like something between awful and trying too hard. She looked at the mess she had created. Lines of splattered juices and a badly combined mixture in the mortar adorned her work table.
“Oh, dear lord!” She sniffed the air. “Perhaps it needs more oil and binding.” Defeated, she put the mixture down and stashed away her apron, ready to clean up.
The walkway leading to her bedroom housed a closet mirror. She stopped to look at her reflection. Beulah took after her mother in everything but skills and expertise. And of course, she could not tell great imaginary stories like Aliyah. In a town where perfume-making was a tradition. Aliyah was one of the most sought-after scent makers in Scentia. Her scents could hold a person captive within their notes for days unending.
Beaulah opened the closet lined with dozens of scented glass vials. Each flavor told a love story of passion and meticulous crafting that her mother poured into them.
Beaulah wanted nothing more than to make potent scents just like her mother. She wanted the world to know her name. She wanted the layers to catapult her into nostalgic and euphoric realms but every time she tried to follow her mother's recipes, she only ended up with epic failed imitations.
“Beaulah, you must let yourself feel so deeply. These plants come from nature; The life giver and we are all parts of nature. Listen with your heart and soul. Surely, you'll hear and see something twinkling.” Her mother would always sing in a melodious tone that made Beaulah laugh.
She closed the closet and a crease of sadness that quickly faded adorned her round face for a second. Determined to make something enchanting for the season, she regained her cheerful composure. She didn't know how but she was going to do it.
That night, Beaulah went to bed reflecting. For the first time, she calmed herself and let her spirit wander. She let her imagination play. “Perhaps, I will conjure some fantasy tonight like Mother used to.” She thought about why her flowers always had that friction when mixing. She began to imagine them transforming into these minute-talking figures.
“Beaulah! I don't want to be next to the lavender.” She imagined the rose flower saying.
Beaulah laughed. Even for her playful mind, that was some wild imagination. Still, she enjoyed the little game playing in her head and coiled up some more. She even thought she saw some white light twinkle beneath her door.
“Neither do I want to be next to you. All you do is smear me with red stains.” Beulah heard a childish voice that startled her.
She was certain it came from somewhere other than her head. “Is it me or are things getting a little strange?” Beulah jumped out of bed and followed the voices.
“I wish we could tell her that we'd rather be in separate mixtures first, then combine later.”
Beulah tiptoed to her work table and she couldn't believe her eyes. Behold, her flowers had come to life just as she imagined them to be. Suddenly, she tripped over a vase and all the flowers played dead.
“Oh no you don't do that! I saw you all with my own eyes just now. I did.”
“You did?” The rose approached the edge of the table as one by one all the flowers stood up. “We’ve waited so long for you to find your whisper. Now that you have, we have so much to show and tell you about scents. You can call me Rosie.” Rosie sat folding her legs on the table. The other flowers did the same.
Beaulah quickly grabbed several mortars. The flowers let her clip petals from their stalks. “Don’t clip the stalks.” The lavender chirped. “It ruins our juices.”
When Beaulah started mixing them with oils and essence, she felt so much at ease this time. The juices simply swirled creating tiny sparks in the air. It appeared as though her hands had been kissed by magic.
The air was bursting with flavors and the flowers simply sat there cheering her on. Beaulah beamed. When she was done, she finally combined all the mixtures. As she did, more gentle sparks accompanied with twinkles erupted creating a burst of flavors like none she had ever smelled.
Beulah was ecstatic. Not all of her mother's stories were make-believe after all. Some were gentle reminders of the true magic in her blood and about who she really was.
“This is truly magical and the world needs to be enchanted,” she whispered to her flowers.
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What a wonderful story! It reminded me of the stories my grandfather used to tell. I liked that you humanised the flowers. Surely if they could talk, they would tell us many secrets. Regards
I'd long to see the day they do. I'm glad this story brought some memories of your grandpa.
Thank you so much.
Thank you so much.
Ahan, so finally she found some sense in 5hose stories, hehe
Nice story
Thank you very much. It came together for her like magic. It is magic. Hehe!
What a creative story, @kei2. It would be so fun if flowers could talk in real life. Thank you for sharing your story in The Ink Well and for reading and commenting on the work of other community members.
Thank you for having me. It is always a pleasure.
Such a delicately beautiful thought, of flowers whispering. I like the idea and the short story. Cheers from a fellow #dreemerforlife
Thank you so much.🍻
A very beautiful story, I really liked that touch of fantasy injected into the plot, beautifully narrated with that touch of magic and sensitivity.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Good day.
I like that you like it.
Thank you so much for your time.
I love fantasy stories, you took me in the world of imagination. It's a good thing Beaulah found her whisper, her mother was right after all
Greetings from #dreemerforlife
Thank you so much. I like how you could immerse yourself into the story. I'm honored.
Thank you for this.
I hope one day we will be able to live in this world of imagination of ours.
I can't wait for it to happen.
Awnn. I would be thrilled if that were to happen. Thank you so much.