"I'm sorry," Poire said, "but I think you are wrong."
"Wrong?" The Prince took a step forward. "Whatever are you trying to say, my dear?"
"I'm saying I'm not perfect. Maybe you are, and I'm sure it's the case because you seem to have a lot going for you, but I don't. I still have things to do. Even if I wish I didn't, even if it does seem like it would be fun to hang around here for the remainder of my days, something tells me I shouldn't." She clasped her hands together and looked up to the Prince. His petals were beautiful; yet she still could not see his truest gaze. "I'm sure I could love you, Prince, if I gave it more time," Poire said. "However, I'm not sure how you would feel when you'd find out that I am not the one you think I am."
"Nonsense!" the Prince said as he approached her once more and grabbed her little hands. "You are perfect for me, Poire. There is nobody else in this world but you that could fill the void in my heart."
Poire paused.
She eased both their hands back down and asked him, "What makes you say this?"
"Isn't it obvious?" the Prince told her. "We both think alike. Our heads"—he motioned to the petals swaying above their necks—"they are not like the others. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you, Poire. Please, I beg you, stay."
Poire trembled.
The breeze grew colder.
"I'm sorry," she said as she put one foot over the balcony's railing and held onto its columns with her free hand, "but I feel I need to dirty these clothes once more, and I fear I cannot do this when I am around you, dear Prince."
The Prince reached out for her as her body dangled over the precipice.
But it was already too late.
Poire had jumped, and she was falling, farther and farther from his desperate, shouted protests; farther from the life she could have lived.
Perhaps the thought of dying should have occurred to her in that moment; yet Poire only thought of the freedom she had just acquired once more.
Her petals bloomed. She reached for the clouds. It is not your time for you to have me yet, she thought, as she fell to her doom. Perhaps one day we will meet again, my Prince.
YOU ARE READING
Flower Girl
General FictionWhen Poire wakes up, she is in an unknown forest, and her head has been replaced by that of a flower's. A talking lemur is convinced Poire has written a list that doesn't belong to her. Poire must prove him wrong, or she might never find her way bac...
