When the swamp witch woke up two hours later, the first thing she noticed was the intense smell of flowers that flooded the room. She looked around, trying to find the origin of the scent. Calla lilies. She would recognize that scent from kilometers away. But why is it so familiar? she thought as a vague memory of her small shack crossed her mind, a blurry image of a garden in the middle of a swamp. She tossed it aside, unable to recall the location of the wooden house. She got up slowly, still feeling weak but strong enough to walk. She studied the room, trying to find some slippers on the floor next to the bedside table. The witch turned around, accidentally hitting with her elbow a frame that fell to the floor. Misty gasped, seeing the small pieces of glass that were now scattered around the floor. Shit, that frame was probably expensive, she stated mentally as she ducked to pick the picture that was placed between the pieces of the frame.
A teenage girl smiled shyly. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a bun, gently accessorized with a simple but stunning tiara. She wore a strapless white couture gown, with a sweetheart neckline and a large full skirt made of tulle. She was effortlessly beautiful, but the thing that captured the swamp witch attention was that, even if dressed with that luxurious dress and standing on the middle of a fancy living room her deep brown eyes were filled with sadness. She reminded her of the woman that she had seen that same night taking care of her. She wondered if the girl was the woman's daughter, quickly tossing that idea away when she looked at the other side of the picture and read the words written on the bottom left corner.
'Cordelia Goode in the debutante ball held at the Fairmont Hotel in New Orleans.
Friday 23rd April, 1993'
Cordelia. That name had been echoing inside her mind and dreams all night after the woman had left the room. The scent of the flowers got stronger, making the swamp witch forget the swamp witch that she was barefoot and wander through the halls of empty house searching for its origin. She walked downstairs, her eyes closed as she followed her instincts, finally arriving to an open wood door. A blonde woman, with her hair up in a ponytail and wearing a floral skirt and black blouse, leaned on the counter as she focused on the flowers. Cordelia.
"Oh, Misty. Hi." the headmistress said shyly when she saw the blonde approaching, her lips turning up slightly at sides in a gentle smile. After half an hour pondering the idea of knocking on the swamp witch's door –which was actually her own bedroom door, since they had decided that Misty would rest better on the woman's big and comfortable bed– to see if she was okay, she had decided to run downstairs and focusing on the greenhouse work she still had to do. "Did I wake you up or something?" she questioned, not wanting to interrupt her love's sleep.
"No, I… Are those Calla lilies, Miss Cordelia?"
"Yes. They're my favorite kind of lilies."
"Mine too. It's a shame they don't smell."
"Yes. Although I'm sure that it wouldn't cover the jasmines' smell."
"Yeah, I could smell those flowers from upstairs.
"Oh, I should have closed the door. I bought them three days ago and I still have to plant them in the garden outside."
"It's okay, I like the smell. It's good to be surrounded by something that is not stinky mud."
"Do you miss your old house?"
"I don't know, I can barely remember it. Ma'am Myrtle told me yesterday that I lived in a swamp and that I arrived here some weeks ago, asking for shelter. Is that true?"
"Yes. You were running from a witch hunter that was after you."
"She also told me that it was you who decided to let me stay in this house." the wild-haired woman stated. "Thank you." she said with a smile, changing her weight to the other foot as she took one of the lilies in her hands and caressed it with her fingertips. Cordelia saw her swallow hard before continuing her speech with a small shadow of embarrassment in her voice. "Ma'am Myrtle also told me that I was special for you."
"Really?" Cordelia mumbled, feeling her hands starting to shake. What has Myrtle told her? I asked her to not to overwhelm Misty with information. She's still not fully recovered.
"Yeah." she nodded. "Was I?" the blonde questioned curiously. In her words there was nothing else but innocence.
"Special to me? Yes, you were." the headmistress admitted, her cheeks turning red as she continued, looking down to her own hands that played with one of the tiniest white flowers. "And you still are." she added some seconds later.
"That's weird." Misty smirked.
"Why?"
"I've never felt special."
To be continued! Reviews will be very appreciated :)
