She licked the honey from her fingers, her tongue pink and small and the honey a translucent dark orange, rich and sticky, dripping steadily from the honey comb in her hands. The liquid settled into a small jar that she sealed tightly when the comb ran dry and placed it next to seven others.

"You quite done with those, Guenièvre?" Pascal, the Indian floral shop owner, drawled as he flipped through his delivery book, "You've got three deliveries to get to this afternoon."

"I'm just about done, monsieur, just one more comb and I'll be finished." Guenièvre hurriedly began the process of removing the honey from the comb as Pascal watched her, regretting his decision to let the young assistant sell her honey in the flower shop. "Remember, while I am gone: one franc for a jar and three francs for four. Have you got that?"

Pascal smiled slightly and nodded, "Yes, now go before you run behind, girl."

Guenièvre smiled herself and picked up the large basket of flowers and the delivery booklet and was out the door. The sun was out, but still hidden in the distance and cast shadows on all the street marketers as they set up their carts and greeted Guenièvre with a smile, a wave, or a small "bonjour." She'd smiled back and watched for the small children that played around her and tugged on her skirt and shoal.

Two sets(dozens) of pink roses were to be sent to Madame Méliés, two bushels of lavender for Madame Barsanti and her herb shop, and wisterias for a young lady called Michelle ordered by a young admirer. Guenièvre adored every moment of seeing the look on people's faces when they were presented with beautiful flowers and relished the look in their eyes with they smelled them, at least the ones that kept their eyes open and didn't indulge completely. She often wished she would be sent flowers, but Pascal's shop being the only one on this side of Paris she'd only sadly be delivering them to herself.

On her way back to the shop Guenièvre's foot caught in a small pot hole in the street and she stumbled forward, nearly falling, but she caught her footing and adjusted herself as she looked on down the street. Two officers in royal blue strode down the street, a few people behind them watched them with frightened eyes while others merely ignored them and went on with their business in the market. Guenièvre watched them as they approached the corner she stood at, waiting for a few people to move so she could cross the street. And as she was crossing the street at her leisure one of the officers knocked into her, sending her backwards a step. She glanced back at him and received nothing as an apology, not even a "pardon" but the back of his head, trimmed and mousy brown hair.

"Excuse-moi." She mumbled to herself and made her way slowly back to the floral shop.

It was nearly noon and that meant Pascal was to do the afternoon deliveries and Guenièvre was to mind to the shop, a part of the day that was the most dull, especially on a sad Monday afternoon where the weather was nice yet she was stuck inside behind a desk, doodling this week's flower arrangement to stifle her boredom. After over a year of these afternoons she had become quite good at sketching, she even bound herself a sketchbook and kept it with her whenever she went out. Occasionally she even sketched people too, but it was merely a hobby and therein her occupation was set as the floral shop's assistant, and she was fine with that for the moment.

A few days passed and Guenièvre had been growing increasingly more and more sad as they went though she did not know why such a feeling had taken over her. Even Pascal had noticed a huge difference in her personality.

"Has something happened, dear?" He had asked, and Guenièvre just shook her head.

"No." She had said, "Nothing at all." Her eyes would watch her unmoving hands on the countertop as Pascal sighed, jingling the bell above the door as he left.

The next day Guenièvre had twice as many orders as her usually delivery and was nearly reduced to tears by the end of her route after facing two angry customers who's flowers had been slightly flattened by the other bouquets resting on top of them. And even though she apologized profusely, they refused to pay and threw the flowers back in her face. She would have to pay for the peonies from her own pocket, and Pascal charged a handsome sum for such stems.

And so she solemnly walked back to the shop, running her fingers across some of the buds and the pink pedals, at least she could give them to her bees, she thought. Her eyes stayed focused on them as she felt a sadness creep its way in through the neglected flowers into her and she felt her heart ache for so many things that she didn't have the slightest clue what of.

As Guenièvre swam deeper into her thoughts she ran into someone and fell back at the impact that sent her flower basket and it's contents onto the road. She heard a deep sigh above her and she looked up and saw a hand in front of her. After grabbing her flowers Guenièvre grabbed the man's hand, her fingers brushing the stiff edge of his sleeve, her eyes followed the black as it turned to blue and she jumped slightly, realizing it was an officer that had knocked her off her feet.

"Excuse-moi, monsieur. I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't looking at where I was going." Guenièvre's eyes were then set on his for just a slightly moment before she bowed slightly and rushed away. She pushed every single thought away from her mind until she reached the shop. Pascal had already left for his deliveries so she was free of having to explain her frightened and disheveled condition. She hid the peonies under the counter and put her head in her hands.

Guenièvre sobbed quietly, the thought of nearly being caught at that moment had nearly ripped her to shreds.

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