Mon Chérie

                       The green of the leaves were a pretty picture under the blue french skies as the crimson hue of a poppy here and there made it a painter’s dream. Standing by the side of a cobbled, narrow stone path, Benoît Gage Mon sought his blue tones while a violinist charmed a dancing lady and rather annoyed him.
                        It was the scent of lavender and honey dew with a hint of spiceflower that consumed his twitched nose to a look of virgin astonishment as a foreign, unknown chill went down his spine. She was there, admist musicians swaying her green watersilk skirts with butter flowers adorned on top, like a sweet summer breeze. A Southern Belle, with the grace of Venus and virtue of Diana. A soft, delicate chimed laugh escaped the slender neck which held that voice of an angel. The Beauty had failed to notice her admirer, leaving him a bittersweet feel.
                      Soft brown hair with wisps of flame curled at the bottom- a little below her dainty, squared shoulders. The sun glinted in her huge, almond shaped amber eyes and made them look like a jewellery peice carved of gold. She had lips the colour of a primrose. A dimple deepened when she clapped her tiny hands and spun gracefully as a swan and hollows in her neckline showed themselves upon her bending low along with a mature bosom, raising the heat in his throat. A set jawline highlighted her high cheekbones as a flush of pink escaped her cheeks as she became aware of her admirer.
                    She hastily stopped as she thanked the musicians whilst glancing at his direction through underneath dark, ink black thick lashes. She bit her lip and fluttered her lashes to the ground. Spinning with the beauty of a dancer, she swayed her hips like a pendulum as she walked away like a dream.
                        Was she a dream? She was a flame. Lavenders left a dissolving, lingering trail after… compelling him to follow her. Benoît ruffled his stained hands through his hair as he cursed under his breath. Lo! He picked a red silken handkerchief with utmost care from the cobbles and could not be mistaken whose it was. This was a sign from either her or the universe.
“Ma Chérie” he exhaled.


17 thoughts on “Mon Chérie

  1. Beautiful imagery on a huge canvas.
    Annibale Carracci’s finest work in prose.
    Nice anti-climax.
    Amazing appetizer, delightful dessert, missing main course.

  2. Why don’t you start an advice section? For teens. I read your other posts too and I must say you seem to have a great insight and depth about things. I think it’s brilliant. How old are you?

  3. 16! Good gracious! That’s splendid. You’re doing an amazing job. And a teen! Who better for a teen advice column?
    Must say though, real mature and smart for a girl even 10 years beyond your age. Keep it up 🙂

  4. Right when I think I know your style and what to expect…you give me something new and unexpected.
    Very good writer.
    Versatile, unpredictable and extremely talented.

  5. she’s like a perfume with light sillage that leaves you puzzled 🙂 but at the same time gives your heart a sigh of relief despite the obstacles of life 😉

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