Irene 2

A week before wax pillars would be burning atop frosted delicacy the dilemma of discovering an appropriate offering eluded the young artist. His intent had been pure, good willed, seeking not a lavish gift but rather one of utter genuinity. Thus he had taken to surveying the convocation of petite shoppes along the inner thigh of the bustling harbor town. The delectable aroma of fresh bake pastry mingled unscrupulously with the pungent seaborn breeze as he idled down the cobbled road, but it failed to deter the eager citizens from frequenting the area.


Although he had passed by nearly every evening for the past several days he had yet to uncover an appropriate gift. Not that there weren't items he might purchase for her, some that she might even enjoy; perfumes and polishes, elegant shampoos, a summer dress and matching hat? But none felt quite right. Each subsequent idea was replaced by a string of doubt and second guessing, easily persuaded that it was a foolish thought, though soon followed by a resounding resolve that the next item would be the perfect one.

With only a pair of days remaining until the festival he was anxious to complete his quest and set off this night with unparalleled determination. However, to his dismay, he had scoured through most of the stores once if not twice already and shortly came to the realization that his efforts my very well be in vain. Resigning himself to the unsatisfying settlement of a lesser gift, he began to return again towards the bath and beautyworks shoppe when, curiously, he noted a small alleyway branching off from the main boulevard.

Perhaps it was the odd sulking angle of the setting sun, or rather that he rarely approached from this direction, but it had never occurred to him before that this little offshoot might hold the potential for anything more than a simple short cut. With nothing to lose he ventured down the narrow passage, past boxes and discarded fliers until he emerged to a quiet row of silent doors, each transfixed, as it were, at the unexpected excitement of his shadow darkening their flaking facade. With a hesitant breath he strode forth and gripped a rusted handle, turning it cautiously and proceeded inside the trembling frame.