Summary: Affection wasn't something that came naturally to him. It was like everything else he reached for. It was elusive, ever escaping his grasp, and burning into ashes when his fingers curled around it. But luckily for him…love came armed with a teapot. A love story brewed very slowly and in very small cups.

Author's Note: This is gonna be drabbles, ya'll. I'm not entirely pleased with this one, but after five or six rewrites, this is as good as it's gonna get. I'm also doing something a little different with chapter titles, if anyone cares.


Flowering Almond

She didn't say a word, but her smile spoke volumes.

The nine-year-old heir and the seven-year-old slave faced each other with naught but empty tea cups between them. Steam rose and illuminated young faces. She waited in patient silence and he seethed with words unsaid.

The despair poured out of him like a flood and he drowned in it. And when he was gasping for air, a pair of brown hands extended to him, holding a teacup with a bright pink flower floating in a tiny amber sea. He didn't understand why it calmed him, but it did. When she was turned, he took the flower and he kept it in his sleeve.


flowering almond, a pink and white bloom, represents hope