Her Eyes

Forty One

"You are not alone, my dear. Winter in England is horrible."

Esmae laughed, her faint voice drowned out by the bustling cooking around her. The kourampiédis were baking in the oven along with the bread, so she and Evangelia cleaned the remaining flour and messy countertop to pass the time.

The tense conversation from before was long forgotten and the two grew closer between the many questions Evangelia asked about Esmae's life as a leaf. The older woman who never experienced such a phenomenon was extremely intrigued, especially since Esmae's origins were that of a dryad.

Esmae gladly answered as much as she could, though some questions were complex and hard to articulate. It would've been far easier if she could somehow show Evangelia what she imagined in her mind. Alas, humans hadn't reached such an advanced state of technology yet.

"A-And the rain, it's always raining," Esmae added as she gently sifted the powdered sugar over the kourampiédis. Like snow, it fell gently, covering the baked sweets in a light sheet of white.

Yet unlike the frozen rain that fell in clusters and froze her fingertips even when she wore thick gloves and held Nikolaos' hand, the sugar was sweet and soft against her tongue – Evangelia had let her try it before they began dusting the delightful treats.

Just a fingertip though; anything more would make the dryad jittery and energetic; Esmae loved sugar but didn't know the consequences of overconsumption.

Evangelia hummed in agreement as she quickly yet delicately shimmered powdered sugar onto the desserts. "Too much rain, too much wind. The sun is never out and the people wear nothing but black. It's as if there's a funeral every day," she rambled and shook her head with displeasure.

Funerals. Esmae smiled faintly at the word. It had a negative connotation surrounding it for obvious reasons of death and sadness, but Esmae thought differently. There were never funerals for her millions of siblings who died each year; there was never a way to honor their short lives which ended before autumn turned into winter. When she learned that humans were kept underground after their death or cremated, the dryad believed it was symbolic in its own way.

To be protected by the earth humans lived from even through death was an honor Esmae never realized existed yet was admirable, to say the least.

"The plants are well fed," Esmae said, putting the sifter into a clear bowl once she finished placing powdered sugar on the kourampiédis. Her words made Evangelia titter and shake her head, a smile coming into view.

It was quite confusing hearing the way Esmae spoke about the plants in the beginning, but after fully understanding her past and what she once was, Evangelia learned how to decipher her words. They weren't idioms or hyperboles but rather direct and literal.

"And t-they survive well during the e-early days of winter," the leaf added. Esmae glanced around the kitchen as it grew warmer from the open fires and hot ovens. It was hot, but was a comfortable heat that was bearable. Especially so, seeing how cold it was outside.

Evangelia finished dusting the desserts with sugar and slid the large and long plate filled with kourampiédis to the end of the counter, giving way to clean and work on other baked goods. "They've adapted quite well, nai?" Esmae nodded absentmindedly, her silence a result of her observant nature.

Hearing so many words but not understanding a single thing made Esmae feel lost and confused, but she quickly learned to zone them out and focus on the movements of the people around her.

Like a leaf.

"Esmae, agapité," Evangelia spoke, getting the attention of the dazed leaf.

"Yes?"