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Description
Rowena frowned at the Vase before her. Papa had thoughtfully asked Miri to fill it with fresh flowers, from the garden Miri said as she gently placed it on her bedside.
"Picked 'em meself" she had said with a satisfied nod and carried on to describe the garden with its wet greens and earthy air which made you want to just "sniff an' sniff an' sniff until you went blue". Miri did this because she knew her charge loved it; her stories of the world ouside her windows, a world she could never touch due to her illness.
Rowena sniffed distastfully at this statement. She was always in bed, wasnt allowed out of it without Papa's say so, 'cause she was sick and "must be kept within a sterile enviroment to prevent her delicate disposition". She wrinkled her nose, that doctor had said all sorts of nonsense, about "Bad air" and "Miasma". Miri didnt agree with him either.
"Only sayin' it cause 'ee dont know what's wrong, cant admit he dont know was'ees on about!" She had stated solemnly while fluffling a pillow absentmindedly. "Air bad for 'ee? Nonsense!"
Rowena slumped back against her pillows and sniffed again, straightening when the smell of daffodills, gypsophelia and violets caught it. She rearanged he rpillows so that she could lean and look at them properly. She ignored the warning pain in her ribs, a dull one that never left but often appeared to remind her of her disability.
She gently lifted a pale paw to nudge a drooping violet, shyly hiding beneath purple viels and smiled when it seemed to perk up.
She had had this "gift" for a while, to revive plants and she had told only Miri of it. Her Papa would think it odd, no matter the marvellous stories he told or Witches and Trolls and beautiful but cruel wood nympths. he would disaprove and make her stop. She would not tell him.
She dropped her pale hand and looked to the vase instead. It was an ugly mishapen thing, it bubbled strangely in certain places, like the volcanoes Rowena had seen in picture books. It had two handles, twisted lumps joined clumsily at each side.
It would be so much better, thought Rowena as the perfume of the flowers began to make her yawn, if it was smoother and a lot less bubbly, smooth...like a swan. She layed a tired hand on it before falling asleep, dreamin of volcanoes spewing daffodils and daisies on surprised savages on a forgotten island.
The next morning, Miri was very confused. She was sure she had set the Masters favourite Vase on the Little Miss' cabinet. He had insisted it be used but how odd, she was sure she had but thing holding proud daffodils and shying violets was quite different.
It was the exact image of a swan.

Rowena finds her legacy. If you want i shall explain C:

Description
Rowena frowned at the Vase before her. Papa had thoughtfully asked Miri to fill it with fresh flowers, from the garden Miri said as she gently placed it on her bedside.
"Picked 'em meself" she had said with a satisfied nod and carried on to describe the garden with its wet greens and earthy air which made you want to just "sniff an' sniff an' sniff until you went blue". Miri did this because she knew her charge loved it; her stories of the world ouside her windows, a world she could never touch due to her illness.
Rowena sniffed distastfully at this statement. She was always in bed, wasnt allowed out of it without Papa's say so, 'cause she was sick and "must be kept within a sterile enviroment to prevent her delicate disposition". She wrinkled her nose, that doctor had said all sorts of nonsense, about "Bad air" and "Miasma". Miri didnt agree with him either.
"Only sayin' it cause 'ee dont know what's wrong, cant admit he dont know was'ees on about!" She had stated solemnly while fluffling a pillow absentmindedly. "Air bad for 'ee? Nonsense!"
Rowena slumped back against her pillows and sniffed again, straightening when the smell of daffodills, gypsophelia and violets caught it. She rearanged he rpillows so that she could lean and look at them properly. She ignored the warning pain in her ribs, a dull one that never left but often appeared to remind her of her disability.
She gently lifted a pale paw to nudge a drooping violet, shyly hiding beneath purple viels and smiled when it seemed to perk up.
She had had this "gift" for a while, to revive plants and she had told only Miri of it. Her Papa would think it odd, no matter the marvellous stories he told or Witches and Trolls and beautiful but cruel wood nympths. he would disaprove and make her stop. She would not tell him.
She dropped her pale hand and looked to the vase instead. It was an ugly mishapen thing, it bubbled strangely in certain places, like the volcanoes Rowena had seen in picture books. It had two handles, twisted lumps joined clumsily at each side.
It would be so much better, thought Rowena as the perfume of the flowers began to make her yawn, if it was smoother and a lot less bubbly, smooth...like a swan. She layed a tired hand on it before falling asleep, dreamin of volcanoes spewing daffodils and daisies on surprised savages on a forgotten island.
The next morning, Miri was very confused. She was sure she had set the Masters favourite Vase on the Little Miss' cabinet. He had insisted it be used but how odd, she was sure she had but thing holding proud daffodils and shying violets was quite different.
It was the exact image of a swan.

Rowena finds her legacy. If you want i shall explain C: