Tale 12- The Floral Magician

 The Traveler found herself in a lighter part of the forest, surrounded by flowers and mushrooms. Bending down, she touched one with her hand- the petals were soft, like the fabric of a new dress, and the inner centre harder, like a gemstone wrapped in a protective cloth. Suddenly, her ears picked up on a nearby sound, laughter, and she tensed up, regaining her stance and moving behind a tree, briefly checking behind her to ensure nobody was following her. Heading toward the source of the sound whilst hiding in the shadows cast by the branches, she found herself close to a couple, laughing together. Curious yet wary, the Traveler watched them, realizing the woman was on a swing and being pushed by the man, both of them laughing together. Staring at them, the Traveler felt something sting inside her, as if her soul had been pricked by a needle. Taking a breath, she decided to approach, both in hopes of finding a tale and in fear of staying in one place for too long. Her legs felt heavy, as if wading through water, but she managed to take the few necessary steps for them to notice her. Slowing the swing, they stared at the girl, curious, as she took out her book from under the cloak. The man observed, wondering why she was dressed the way she was, whilst the woman stared at the book as the Traveler flipped through it, pulling out her quill and preparing to write. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. The woman stood and peeked at the page before, observing the illustrations of the Dream Watcher and realizing. “Do you want us to tell you a story?” she asked, and the Traveler nodded, looking slightly ashamed that she hadn’t asked them herself. The woman gave a little smile, preparing to tell her the tale of ‘The Floral Magician’.

‘Once, there was a young woman, poor beyond poverty, who was forced to sell flowers by the side of the road. She did this for weeks, dressed in simple rags, but received very few sales, and often endured punishments from her mother due to this. However, one day, a man approached her, curious about her flowers, and took one from the basket, talking to her and paying much more than she could ever ask for. For the first time in ages, the girl could afford a proper meal, and, despite her own feelings toward them, shared the money and food with her family. The next day, the man came again, and paid even more this time for the same type of flower, continuing their conversation from the day before. The woman noticed that the buds seemed to be much healthier now, and became curious about who this man was. Due to the money earned, she was able to afford food for everyone and a new dress for herself, since she had more than enough. Days passed, the flowers looking brighter than ever before and the woman becoming much more established, able to set up a proper stand in the market and sell her flowers for a lot of money, the man visiting every day and the two having fun conversations. However, one morning, he didn’t appear. Weeks went by and he never reappeared, the woman’s flowers beginning to wilt and eventually having to sell what she’d earned to help her family. One fateful day, she spotted him in the town square and rushed toward him, the man instantly noticing her and smiling, pulling something out. He’d cared for the flowers he had been buying, and gently handed the bouquet to her, before asking for her hand in marriage. The woman was shocked, but the man explained that he’d never had eyes for the flowers- he just used them as an excuse to talk to her each day, but that he had fallen ill and risked dying, which is why he couldn’t visit for a while. The two were married, and her husband paid off everything for her family, allowing her to live with him instead of having to provide for them. Since then, not a single flower has died in the house, and she’s finally living a life she dreamed of.’

The Traveler finished writing, drawing flowers in the corners of the pages, before closing her book and looking at the two again. They only had eyes for each other, true love passing between them, and the nomad found it beautiful. Quietly thanking them, she walked back into the forest, watching as flowers bloomed by her heels as she moved. She moved her book back under her cloak, and stared up at the sky, wondering what the true meaning of romantic love was. If the world held an answer different to the one she believed, perhaps it would relieve her of her broken heart. She walked into the distance, shaking the thoughts away, and ready to continue collecting the stories.