#princesspzora

“Let me __ you.” fill in the blank meme || accepting

"Me?” Aerith pauses at the request, looking up to the sky as if the answers for it are there and not in her own heart. “But why?” She asks in return, the attention of green eyes turned back to Rayne.

“You write such great stories, full of adventures and grandness-- I’m not a great a story.” She’s a simple story, at the heart of it-- why tell her story when there are such better ones out there?

The crown is heavy when it’s placed upon the mercenary’s head; gladiolus grown too tall reaching for the sun and often topple back to the ground for the hubris of their own blooms, and here they’re woven together with fragrant gardenia.

There’s meaning woven in the blooms, strength and joy; you are joy. But at the end of the day, what does it matter what they mean? As long as they make someone happy in the present, then they’ve fulfilled their duty.

There’s a girl Aerith hasn’t seen in the slums before. Not that that’s anything new-- people are always on the move beneath Shinra’s watchful eye, migrating from sector to sector in search of work or better beginnings.

Today the florist’s basket is full of woven blooms; a little pricier depending on the customer, but a bright joy that most people haven’t seen or thought about in many a year. Even she’s forgotten them from time to time, before the suggestion comes from the craft itself.

There’s no rhyme or reason to how she picks her customers, and sometimes they need not even pay-- that’s the feeling she gets from this girl as she pulls out a simple braided band of fragrant lavender and jasmine; tiny white and purple blooms weaving together in a circlet that heals the spirit-- or, at least uplifts it.