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if you were to ask, her ideal world is full of sweets and lights, of flora and eternal rain. lovely smells and lovely sights, the way light would bounce off of water and shimmer in its radiance. a beautiful sort of ideal. if you were to inquire she will smile and laugh and gesture all around and ask isn't if obvious? and she will show amusement at your inquiry. so silly you are.[break][break]

she will not mention that her ideal world has hell ( or something like it ) dwelling meters beneath, the ground over warm, a fire you cannot see.[break][break]

her ideal lies on the palm of her hand, keys digging and jangling and chiming, the rain falling and a door opening and there it is. her perfect world. her everything. she is happy there ( an approximation of happiness, do not dare inquire if it rings true to the dictionary's definition of such an emotion ) and she arrives, every day, smile on her face and the sun not yet arising. ovens on, warmth enveloping her, breads baking and dough mixing and by midday her arms are sore and she has smiled at countless people. she will never remember their face, their name. they are nothing.[break][break]

door locks behind her and she hums, skip in her step, not going too far, not straying out of range of her source of happiness. there is a new burn on her hand, a mindless act of grabbing a hot pan without oven mitts, but it does not hurt. she bursts into the flower shop with an air of sugary sweetness and smiles and laughs and charms and leaves, a new bouquet in her hands, pressing against the new burn. that hurts, a little bit.[break][break]

tea is purchased on her way back, lunch break waning ( had she eaten? oh well, there are things at the bakery —— no harm in eating a little bit of the merchandise ) and she drinks it along her way, not minding the way it scalds her tongue and burns at her esophagus. when sweet dreams comes into her line of vision again, something in her chest unfurls, loosens itself from its knot, though it does not bloom. ( can anything beautiful flourish upon a pile of ashes? ) a strange quirk to her mouth appears as she notices a figure in front of it and laughs, gentle huff beneath her breath, at the sight of him.[break][break]

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she approaches from behind, twists around him, arms nearly brushing as she laughs, airy and melodic and smiling wider, teeth flashing and then disappearing again. there are flowers in her hands and tea in the other and she peers up at him. "i hope you haven't been waiting long —— even the owner of a business needs to take lunch, sometimes," and her sole employee was not on the schedule, that day. it is her life, and she does not want to share it wholly.[break][break]

arms are full and she leans close to him, almost touching again before thinking better of it and she jostles her purchases, before pausing. she laughs again, "my arms are a little full, actually. could you grab my keys from my coat pocket and unlock the door for me?" it would be easy to unlock the door, herself, as easy as shifting the flowers to one arm and holding them as if they were a child, but she cannot resist. hip juts and she simpers, unapologetic, "they're in the pocket closest to you, the key is in a cupcake key cover." a beat, and then, with a wistful cadence that was not entirely untrue, "the key cover was a present from a darling little girl, i baked the cupcakes for her fifth birthday party and she insisted on giving me something."

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