[ In the middle of the chaos, a little bottle (glass, with a delicate silver stopper, no bigger than her palm) appears outside of Lauralae's door. It's filled, as will be evident as soon as she tries opening it, with perfume. A black velvet ribbon has been tied around its neck, and upon one of its loose ends, embroidered in silver thread: NIGHT, DARK, WILD.
I like things that remind me of the forest, she'd said. Leaves, dirt, plants, bark. So the perfume the bottle carries smellsβ black, green, moss. Like the dampness of being alive, like the cycle of birth and decay. Certainly not an easy fragrance β not the type, anyway, to achieve any real commercial success β but one he's mixed to attempt to capture the sentiments she'd expressed. ]
π¦ delivery.
I like things that remind me of the forest, she'd said. Leaves, dirt, plants, bark. So the perfume the bottle carries smellsβ black, green, moss. Like the dampness of being alive, like the cycle of birth and decay. Certainly not an easy fragrance β not the type, anyway, to achieve any real commercial success β but one he's mixed to attempt to capture the sentiments she'd expressed. ]