The Sprite in the Green Leafy Dress
It was a bright, pleasant morning on Ecovia’s Egg. The radiant summer sun shined brightly on the dewy grass. The birds sang to the energy of the new day. And the azure skies stirred the clouds to create swirly patterns like latte art.
Pomola, the angel of fruits, could not ask for a day more perfect, for she was hosting a brunch for her sisters at her home in the Orchard of Alma.
“Are you sure you two do not want to try some of my zesty citrus tea?” Pomola offered, pouring some into a cup made from the rind of her fruit. “You don’t know what you are missing!”
“Not a chance, little sis,” Floriela, the angel of flowers, declined firmly. “Your fruits make everything too tangy. I infuse my tea only with the aromatic essence of delicate petals.”
“Are you criticizing my sweet, juicy fruits?” Pomola crossed her hands, angrily confronting Floriela.
“You can pour me a cup if you insist, Pomola,” Dendriela, the angel of trees, complied to ease the tension between her sisters.
Pomola smiled gratefully at Dendriela and stuck her tongue out at Floriela in a playful gesture.
The sisters unwound to the refreshing sips of their tea. They were chatting and venting about their daily troubles when they spotted someone in the orchard. They cautiously approached the slender and fit figure, clad in a layered leafy green dress sequined with beans. Her long pea pod earrings swung back and forth as she balanced herself on her toes, struggling to reach for one of the fruits on a tree.
“Howdy, fellow sisters,” the stranger merrily greeted in her country accent.
“Get away from my fruits!” Pomola snapped, her motherly instincts kicking in. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“Oo, I-I mean no harm. I’m Olerila, the sprite of vegetables,” the stranger introduced herself. “Your newest lil’ sister!”
“Pardon!” Pomola and Floriela exclaimed together, unlike Dendriela, who kept her cool to the surprising news.
“You lie!” Floriela accused. “You are not our sister!”
“I ain’t lying y’all,” Olerila tried to ease their anxiety. “Archangel Botanella created me from the Farms of Bonita in the heartlands. I want to invite your plants to join my farm, where I can help them grow healthier and greener.”
“I will not allow you to take my fruits away to mold them into shape!” Pomola tartly replied.
“N-no! Thi-think of me as a nanny,” Olerila desperately explained.
“Dendriela, don’t you have something to say?” Pomola urged.
“Honestly, I want to give Olerila a chance,” Dendriela consented. “I do not mind her raising my trees.”
“Argh,” Floriela scowled. “You are no help!”
Pomola grabbed Olerila’s green leafy dress, ripping it as she dragged her out of the orchard. “Our fruits and flowers aren’t for your savory nutrition. They are sweet, tart, and aromatic. So go back to your “farms” or where ever you came from, and stay away from our plants, missy! We do not need another sister!”
After Olerila left, Pomola and Floriela plotted how to stop her. Dendriela overheard their conversation and disapproved of their plans. “You two should keep an open mind,” she offered her sisterly advice. “Who knows? She might be a blessing to our plants.”
“We highly doubt that!” Pomola and Floriela scoffed.
The following day, Floriela and Pomola traveled to the playground of the universe to visit Archangel Botanella. Like petulant children, they entered the throne room without her permission and demanded she banish Olerila from existence at once.
“No, I will not,” Botanella outrightly refused. “Just like you angels, she has been created for a purpose.”
“Purpose?” Floriela repeated in a scornful tone. “What purpose could she have when she resorts to creating new hybrids of plants from ours?”
“I have high hopes for Olerila,” Botanella replied. “I expect her to strengthen the bond between our plants and Zooella’s animals.”
“We could have done that ourselves if you would’ve asked us,” Pomola argued. “Our relationship with the animals is, umm… more-or-less neutral.”
“Give her a chance,” Botanella advised. “I believe all of you will eventually get along with each other. Maybe even become good friends. She is your younger sister, after all.”
Pomola and Floriela returned to the Orchard of Alma, disappointed and frustrated with their meeting with Archangel Botanella. They sat under the dim light of the starry sky, grumbling about Olerila.
“This is so unfair!” Floriela whined in her tantrum. “If Olerila is our sibling, I no longer want to be Botanella’s daughter. I’ll leave if I must.”
“Do not say that. If anyone should leave, it should be Olerila,” Pomola soothed, trying to put sense into her head. “We must do something to drive her away.”
“You are right,” Floriela agreed. “We should destroy her farms. I can make a deal with some insects; it won’t take much to sway their queen. Perhaps anger Chasitia to flood her farms since she is already hostile against us. Or, maybe—”
“No!” Pomola disapproved of her intentions. “We should not do anything that will harm the plants!”
“Pfft!” Floriela dismissed. “You are weak and sentimental. We cannot sit around, hoping she leaves on her own?”
Pomola agreed to the need for action and thoughtfully considered what they could do. “We should go to her farms and find dirt on her.”
“Ugh! That won’t help in the slightest,” Floriela rudely rejected her suggestion. “Do what you want. I will handle this myself.”
“Please do not do anything that will get us in trouble again,” Pomola pleaded, watching her flouncing away.
Now that Pomola was on her own, she began preparations for spying on Olerila. She rummaged through her wardrobe, looking for a garb that would make her blend in the greenery of the farms. However, they included an orange rind jacket, a strawberry-red sweater sequined with seeds, a fuzzy peach-colored top, and a blueberry high-neck bodycon dress, among other brightly colored clothes. So she fashioned a husky cape of leaves to camouflage herself.
Pomola made the long journey east to the heartlands, asking the trees and fruits for directions to the Farms of Bonita. When she arrived at her destination, the sight of plants growing orderly in parallel rows in rectangular plots shocked her. She could not help but wonder about how Olerila had persuaded them to join her farm.
“Are you okay?” Pomola approached them. “How did Olerila bring you here against your will?”
“No, Angel Pomola. You have got it all wrong,” answered Zea, grinning with her corny yellow teeth. “We followed Olerila here after she rescued us from drought last summer. She waters us, feeds us, and cares for us. We are happy to be here.”
Pomola had not expected to hear compliments about Olerila. She looked at the other plants and found them healthy and happy, swaying to the wind.
When Olerila appeared, Pomola pulled her cape over her head and dove into the fields to hide among the sea of grains. “Don’t tell Olerila I am here,” she whispered to the plants. Peeking her head out, she watched Olerila singing and dancing with the plants, nurturing them as if they were her own.
Eventually, Olerila noticed Pomola and was startled by her presence. “Oh, hi there,” she greeted with a smile. “I didn’t know I had a visitor.”
Unsure of how to react after getting caught, Pomola left her cover to face her. “Hello,” she awkwardly replied, quickly shedding her cape, now finding it ridiculous.
“Do you want some green tea?” Olerila kindly offered to make her feel comfortable. “It is infused with spicy roots that will rejuvenate you after your long journey.”
“No-no, thanks,” Pomola declined. ’I was only here to check… on my fruits.”
“Oh, sure,” Olerila welcomed. “Feel free to explore the farm. Or, if you like, I can give you a tour and introduce you to the little veggies I’m growing.”
“Uh, okay,” Pomola reluctantly accepted the offer.
Olerila smiled, pleased that she was giving her a chance. She invited Pomola to stay with her, and the two got to know each other better.
Pomola’s worry and distrust of Olerila faded with each passing day. Their mutual respect and tolerance for each other nurtured the seed of their budding friendship, sprouting into trust. The two soon became inseparable.
Under Olerila’s influence, Pomola changed for the better. She was more than happy to share her fruits with Olerila after seeing the veggies growing vibrant and lively before her eyes, approving of her healthy and nutritious path.
One evening, Olerila returned to the farm to find it invaded by a bunch of weeds. They were raiding all the nutrients and water from the soil, leaving her vegetables starving to death. “Get out of here, you lil’ thugs or this is gonna get ugly,” Olerila shouted, grabbing her plow and trowel.
With the weeds continuing their attack, unfazed by the threat, Olerila mercilessly pulled them from the ground. By the time she had eliminated them all, they had managed to kill a few of her plants.
“He-he,” the final weed coughed, taking his last breath. “Angel Floriela sends her regards.”
Olerila was disappointed with Floriela, having never expected her to stoop so low. Nonetheless, she did not want to waste her time feeling upset because she had to attend to her dying veggies and save as many of them as she could.
Pomola came rushing late the following morning as soon as she heard about the attack on the farm. She spotted Olerila in the scorching sun caring for her vegetables. “What happened?” she asked, joining her.
“A bunch of weeds attacked my farm —don’t worry yourself,” Olerila downplayed the matter, not wanting to badmouth Floriela.
“Weeds, huh?” Pomola repeated, recognizing who was behind it. Furiously, she announced, “I am calling Floriela to the farm to fix the damage she has done. I told her not to do anything stupid!”
“Leave it,” Olerila emphatically stopped. “I don’t wanna escalate the matter—”
“No,” Pomola stopped. “I was the youngest daughter of Botanella before you came along. Now it is my turn to be the elder sister.”
The following day, Floriela arrived with Dendriela. She critically eyed Olerila up and down, observing her playing with the tendrils of her green curly hair that she had accessorized with florets of cauliflower. “So pretentious!” she mocked in a prickly taunt.
“Floriela!” Pomola scolded like a mother to their misbehaving child. “I told you not to harm the plants. Do the right thing and help restore the farm.”
“Pfft,” Floriela rolled her eyes. “Since when did the two of you become so close?”
“Floriela, you are acting on your prejudice,” Pomola advised. “The news of Olerila being our new sister left us in shock and denial. We were scared because she was unknown to us. We thought she would take away our fruits and flowers—”
“I am not trying to replace any of you as the angels of these wonderful plants,” Olerila interrupted to clarify. “I would never impose like that.”
“—And after getting to know her caring and nurturing nature, I have accepted her as my sister with an open heart,” Pomola continued. “So give her a chance. Once you get to know her, I’m sure you will trust her with your flowers as I have come to trust her with my fruits.”
“Don’t lecture me, sis,” Floriela crossed her hands, refusing to budge. “I will never share. Never. Never.”
“Floriela, do you realize your actions make you look petty and insecure?” Dendriela chimed in.
“If you do not wish to accept Olerila, fine,” Pomola gave up trying to persuade her. “But you cannot hurt the veggies in the farms. They are my fruits. Some of them are even your flowers. You will alienate yourself from Dendriela and me if you continue your destruction. Eventually. Mother Naturella will intervene and punish all of us.”
“Fine, I will tolerate Olerila to maintain peace,” Floriela agreed to resolve the matter. “But if I find her recruiting my flowers, I will do as I please and destroy everything she holds dear.”
Olerila sighed at her choice of words. “I wanted us to be good friends —I still do. But I want nothing to do with you if you intend to harm my veggies,” she stated with all seriousness, staring into Floriela’s fuchsia and green ombre eyes. “So you best drift away like your pollen in the wind.”
“Don’t forget I am an angel, and you are a sprite. You will never be my equal,” Floriela sneered, starting to walk away. “Unlike you, I am alluring, colorful, and aromatic, and I have the adoration of all daughters of Zooella and their animals.”
“Just you wait, missy,” Olerila accepted her challenge. “I know the worth of my veggies. We’ll see who they like once they get to know me better!”
THE END
