Page 68 of Scent of Desire
“Grasse,” I spoke with determination, my eyes set on my letter burning with the flames of the lighter.
The words turned into ashes, until none of it remained on earth.
Day 23
Dear Radcliff,
You were my spring, planting your darkness into my wounds and gardening my heart that is now a fortress of stone on a dry, wintery fall.
But I’m blooming.
In Grasse with Hugo, I’m telling the story of what happens when the witch of the fairy tale wins—if only we could win together. I’ve captured your diamond heart with me. You thought it was a black, worthless rock, but I’ll immortalize it into the shape of my perfume bottle.
Each scent smells of you.
Perhaps, because you’re here with me, in each of my breaths and steps?
You’re the one my guards on the flower fields are talking with through their headsets.
You’re the one they take the pictures of me for.
You’re the one who asked them to watch over me.
But you don’t let me reach you—except during my dreams. You’re mastering that illusion. I know you’ll reappear when the time is right. After all, the Devil is the most tenacious of all, just like our connection shatters all the physical boundaries.
Together, we’re pure madness.
But we are us.
Imperfect and magical.
Your flower goddess.
“Is it another one of your letters for Radcliff?” Hugo asked from behind me, snapping me out of my reading. “You don’t have an address.”
No one knew where Radcliff was—not even Hugo—but that wouldn’t stop me.
“I don’t need an address.” I lit the lighter and burned the corner of my letter, watching the flames dissipate over my words.
I waited for the letter to turn black and for the flames to scorch me to throw the rest of my letter into the fireplace.
Soon, only smoke and ashes would remain, and I hoped it would go to hell to reach its recipient. Its ruler.
“Why are you doing this, then?” Hugo packed away the papers for the launch of my perfume and sat beside me on the couch of my Mediterranean villa. “Is it some kind of therapy?”
My eyes were empty, stuck on the fireplace. “I’m burning the letters because I’m hoping the hellfire will bring my words to hell. To Radcliff.”
It was more of a spell.
An incantation.
Might as well give my nickname right and try out witchcraft.
“You must think I’m crazy, right?” I snorted, meeting Hugo’s stare.
He had been a true ally for me the past month. We’ve made of my colorful, sunny house gifted by Radcliff, a perfume temple. The whole place was spacious enough, so we could work on the design and the marketing of my creation. Working occupied my mind so sadness wouldn’t wash over me. Twice a week, he met me up here, in Grasse, making sure I wasn’t missing anything over homemade tea inside my ceramic cups.
“Let’s face it, you can’t be crazier than Radcliff.” Hugo gave me a cocky grin, and we both laughed.
