There was a war on.
There was a war on and blood was being spilled over the once picturesque valley of flowers that grew behind the mountains. The mountains that once were grand and imposing but shook and trembled with horror seeing what people- no, monsters- could do to one another.
They fought, kicking up the flowers and adorning the grass with red.
The flowers- they were almost all gone. Natasha wept for them, just as she wept for those lost to another man's hatred: the king.
Wizards VS warlocks. Magic users VS magic users. People VS people.
They had been turned against each other, made to hate one another through the propaganda of the state. No doubt, the other side had been just as indoctrinated to believe that their king was right.
Natasha wept.
Joseph (always 'Joey' to Natasha) was tending to the flower bed that grew on the balcony of their flat: their last beacon of hope- all that remained beautiful of the ruined kingdom. It filled their lungs with sweetness when all they could smell was death and despair.
Anomalies, Joseph and Natasha seemed to be the only people in their kingdom who disagreed with the slaughter of people because a man in a fancy hat told them to. The other side was not evil, just lambs following their trusted leader to slaughter. It was a race war, and no one should be punished for the person they were born as. It didn't matter how king Pomphrey disguised it- claiming back our land, our money, our oil, our dignity, our magic. It was still a race war. And, Natasha and Joseph were the only wizards not blinded; they had the reviving scents of the flowers to clear their vision.
It was Joseph who taught Natasha to love flowers. She had always thought them pleasing to eye, but Joseph showed her how flowers could show and enhance your emotions. They could be used to show friendship, to show respect, to show happiness, to show understanding, to show sympathy.
They could be used to show love.
'Flowers can provide comfort in times of darkness. They're also really special. Since living things can't be tampered with, they're natural. They don't need magic to be beautiful. They're already perfect'.
Such a wide variety of colours, of smells, of emotions attached to each and every flower that grows and lives and thrives.
They're not easy- they need maintenance. Joseph liked that, too. The idea of hard work paying off and the reward being the enchanting vibrancy of the plants you nurtured, loved, and cared for.
They made Joseph feel peaceful. They made Natasha feel happy. They made them feel hopeful because although the world outside them was changing, the blinds were coming down and the lights were dimming in the streets, although they could trample all over the valley, no one could touch the flowers that Natasha and Joseph grew together.
'Did you hear about the parade?'
'The one that's supposed to raise morale?'
'Yes'.
'For an unjust war in which innocent people are murdered?'
'Afraid so'.
'Count me out'.
'He says it's compulsory- the king'.
Joseph put down his shovel and turned to face the only person he still trusted.
'Compulsory? He made a parade compulsory?'
'He's a maniac'.
'That, I know'.
