“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”
― Edgar Allan Poe
He stood too close to Briar and was now haunted by the fragrance of her skin. It was of another season, trapped beneath the snow, waiting for the June sun to set it free. Flowers growing wild from the forest floor. The rich, black soil they sprouted from. The briny sea air. Another scent, familiar, but too subtle to place.
Had she felt the tremble of his hand when he touched the crook of her arm, heard the slight stutter in his voice when he spoke her name? He breathed her in, never again to exhale.
“Briar.” He whispered, scrawling her name across the tag in black ink. The carousel, wrapped in paper as red as her capelet and tied with the last bit of silver ribbon on the spool, was meant to be hers.
As dawns first blush filled the room with gilded light, the toy store was a magical sight to behold. A row of stockings brimming with clove-studded oranges, shiny new pennies, and a bevy of trinkets, hung by the chimney. Puffs of steam rose up from the smokestack of a tin plate train whistling and chugging in a circle around the mountain of presents piled beneath the Christmas tree, its cargo cars stuffed with sugar plums, bonbons, comfits, and lollipops. Chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil spilled over the edge of a treasure chest, and a gingerbread mansion, with tufts of sugar cotton billowing from the chimney and glass candy windows glittering in the warm firelight, was waiting to be pounced on and devoured.
A troop of orphans led by sister Anacleta tromped excitedly through the snow, eager to spend Christmas morning in a world of the toy maker’s imaginings
But all of his thoughts were of Briar.
An audience of his creations watched with painted eyes as Evan tucked the package inside his overcoat and stepped outside. As the door fell shut behind him, the bell above rang out in protest. The children were soon to arrive, and his place was here, among the toys and the starry-eyed dreamers who loved them.
With no care for any of this, he rushed down the streets to the sea blue cottage sprinkled in diamond dust. Snow, like powdered glass, crunched underfoot, and the dark clouds gathering overhead warned of a coming storm.
Unlatching the gate, he paused beneath the white, wooden arbor. He knew which room was hers. Was she there now, fast asleep, or did their encounter rouse her as it had him? All of his senses jolted awake the moment he first laid eyes upon her. Setting the package on her doorstep, he glanced up at her window once more before stealing away as silently as he arrived.
The snow was falling softly by the time he returned to his shop. He removed his glove, reaching out his hand and catching a snowflake in his warm palm. As it turned to water, a faint foreboding, no heavier than a single strand of moon-colored hair, settled on his skin like goose flesh. Evan knew then, with great certainty, the scent of Briar’s skin eluding him.
It was the scent in the air before the fall of rain.
Fairy Tales
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I wish I could visit the toymaker’s shop! It sounds truly magical.