Of Stars & Black Roses

The mornings in Alexandria were always draped with salt and gold.

Élodie Rosier preferred them that way. It always reminded her that even though life passed by, she always had familiarity to cling to.

Before the streets were filled with merchants, before the noise in the air grew palpable in her ears, she was always awake before the break of dawn, being able to grasp colors layered across buildings, it always gave her inspiration for her next bouquet.

Today she saw pastel colors hidden deep within a mural of someone who had died years ago. Her skin was dark and shone pastels to contrast it. It fascinated her, she was always fond of it.

She unlocked the door to her tailoring shop with practiced ease.

The bell above the door chimed softly as she walked in, a warm cast of light spreading across the floors, and her eyes scanning across the room for any signs of change.

She walked up to the counter where the same old needles were, neatly tucked into a wooden box.

She removed her gloves one by one as she greeted the empty shop counter, placing both hands on them as she took a breath and steadied herself against the wooden counter frame.

“Bonjour,” she greeted the empty area ahead of her under her breath.

Her mother had made it a habit, always saying that a room deserved to be acknowledged before work were to be done in it.

“Flowers bloom when the maker cares deeply about their surroundings around it.” Madame Rosier would always say in her polite French accent.

A faint smile touched her lips as she pulled her curls back into a neat bun. She walked elegantly up to her work table and put the fallen petals from the night before to the side and into the bin.

Her mother had taught her the language of flowers before she began her journey as a botanist. She always taught her the smells and the needs of each one before the day started.

Her dad in contrast, had always preferred the stars.

He was an astronomer by profession and always dreamed of what lied above the clouds that hid the stars beneath. He had taught her about the constellations simultaneously as her mother tried to relate it to the flowers in the bouquet.

He would always say “Light leaves traces of darkness beneath.” And she would follow up with “Just like the lights to darks in the flower stems from top to bottom.”

It was a happy spot in her heart.

And as the townspeople began waking up moments later and filling the town, Élodie couldn’t help but stare out of the big window displayed in the front of the tailoring shop. She gently pushed the velvet curtains aside and as the sunlight hit against her brown eyes, she could take it all in.

One hand placed on the window frame as her smile slightly expanded. Her full lips and the glow on her face explained it all; she loved the world around her.

She gently lifted the window, the fresh air immediately sending a breeze through her dark curly hair. She could see the stands being setup, and multiple people who knew her waving.

She glanced all throughout the stone walls and buildings that seemed to age slowly. Right on the stone pavements below them lied cracks in-between, and as she glanced further at this specific spot between a desolate shop and a grocery store were a singular black rose.

“...Non,” she whispered.

And as her eyes slightly softened to gaze further, she could see the velvet-dark petals that lied upon it.

She deemed it impossible, from her own experiments in flowers she has never seen a black one, a natural black one.

She slightly shook her head, exhaling through her mouth as the grip of her hand grew tighter on the window ledge. She leaned her head in as she slowly got mesmerized by the thought.

She realized the last black rose she ever saw was outside of Monsieur Frause’ home. He had passed years ago.

Her eyes blinked once, then twice as her hands raised from the window frame as she walked toward the door.

She contemplated opening it for a moment, keeping her hands firmly on the knob. She glanced out of the glass glazing on the door.

“Je ne sais pas...” She said under her breath to herself. She wasn’t sure if she should. She took a few breaths before hearing a knock on the door from the outside.

Her eyes widened, quickly glancing out to notice the baker from across the street struggling to hold the tray in his hand.

“Miss Rosier?” The man said politely as she twisted the handle and opened the door.

A bright smile on her face as she was greeted with a tray of fresh cakes. The scent filled her lungs quickly as she took it all in.

“Monsieur Fournier!” Élodie gasped under her breath. “It is quite lovely to see you on this bright morning!”

He grinned, taking it in. He held the tray more firm now that he was steady on his feet. He glanced beside her, noticing the slight flower display next to her desk.

She glanced behind to recollect what he was seeing. She made an ‘oh’ gesture with her mouth before clearing her throat.

“You may have noticed the display, yes?” She asked, her brows furrowed slightly at him, holding one hand on the edges of the door.

“Aiwa!” He nodded. She gave a friendly smile as he handed out the tray to her.

She gasped under her breath, “all for me?” She laughed. “My famille will be delighted. Merci, Monsieur Fournier!”

“Anything for the Rosier family.” He added, tipping his hat as he walked away slowly.

She fully smiled before trying to shut the door while maintaining the tray of cakes before her. She managed to shut it with the bell chiming above before placing it down on the table in the middle of the room.

It was heavier than she thought, a bunch of cakes normally would cost a fortune in Alexandria, but she was treated as royalty by some passerby’s she would meet on her day to day ventures.

She carefully removed the linen cloth covering the tray. She was greeted by honey cakes, almond pastries and a small tart with sugar.

A delighted laugh escaped past her lips. “So much for one to have.” Though, the thought of sharing them with her family later gave her warmth in her chest.

Her smile lingered as she picked up each cake and examined them carefully, admiring the handiwork. As she placed each one back down, her eyes were immediately caught back to the black rose in the crack across the street.

She noticed it was still there, darkened between the bright colors of the pavement and scenery surrounding it. Part of her wanted it, but part of her wished to leave it be.

The town outside had gotten livelier since Monsieur Fournier’s visit. Merchants were arranging colorful fabrics and displaying them for the people to see. Children ran through the streets guided by their parents.

It was life, everywhere she looked there was life. But her focus was always on the black rose, it always caught her eye. She pressed her fingertips on the glass, and got closer.

“Who are you here for?” She murmured, like she didn’t understand why or how it existed yet.

She pondered for a moment as the smell of fresh baked goods filled the room, making the flowery scenery crash with sugar. It seemed to make her think harder.

She remembered a rainy afternoon years ago when she first met Monsieur Frause. He was standing outside of his home in the grass, an umbrella tucked beneath his arm.

She remembered a black rose growing beside his doorstep, not fully understanding it at the time. But she had never pressed on it, just focused on her own work.

But she could never replicate it.

And it wasn’t fully bloomed.

But as she saw this one today, she noticed it was fully bloomed. She could only wonder the implications of what it could mean. It made her lose her thoughts into a train of recycled memories that she couldn’t put into complete sentences.

The bell above the shop door chimed suddenly, catching her attention quickly. Her heart raced like she had not expected more company today.

Élodie startled and turned toward it.

She opened the door and was greeted by a young woman carrying a folded fabric beneath one arm.

“Good morning, Miss Rosier.”

Élodie immediately composed herself, dusting off her rose colored shirt.

“Bonjour!”

The woman smiled politely as Élodie let her in. She approached the counter as Élodie took her position behind it.

“I hope I am not interrupting your busy moments.”

Élodie scoffed at the thought of her time being wasted. “Time is delicate, sweet pie! But it is not wasted if doing things you love.”

The woman turned her head, greeted by the many flowers accompanying the room surrounding her.

“Lovely choice of words, Miss Rosier.”

“Oh please, call me Élodie!” She let out, and she had never let anyone call her by Élodie except for her own family, but she was feeling in the moment, especially with someone who fit the aesthetic of her tailoring shop.

The woman placed the fabric down on the counter. “I was wondering if you might have time to mend this, Élodie.”

“Of course!”

Élodie carefully unfolded the fabric between them. It was a beautiful sparkling piece. A deep blue with silver embroidery woven along the sleeves. A sort of garment that reminded her of the galaxy, something her dad taught her a lot about.

Her fingers moved gently across the material, looking over every thread carefully.

“The stitching is loose right here,” she observed, pointing at a torn seam. “And this portion appears to have been slightly ripped.”

The young woman laughed. “I tried to climb a fence.”

“A fence, why so?” Élodie asked curiously as she reached into the drawer beneath her for a sewing kit.

The woman held her elbows against the counter, leaning slightly closer. “I forgot the key to it.”

A laugh escaped Élodie before she could stop it. “That is such a relatable explanation!”

“It is?” The woman said, her eyes slightly widened.

“Why, yes!” Élodie said, “One time I got my fabric caught in-between a door frame trying to enter my shop!”

The woman smiled, “I do assume we all go through different experiences in life!”

“Oui, oui!” She smiled politely, concentrating on the woman’s appearance for a moment, studying her closely while sewing the fabric.

She had dark hair in loose waves. She held a confidence in the way she carried her posture. Her eyes wandered constantly, unable to stay focused. She took in the corners of the shop with curiosity.

Most visitors admired the dresses. This woman admired the entire room. The flowers, the curtains, the intricate details.

“You truly enjoy flowers, do you?” the woman asked.

Élodie glanced toward her favorite display. “Oui! This display is full of vibrant colors and some of my favorite ones.”

The woman nodded. “Any reason?”

“My mother was a botanist,” Élodie answered softly. “She taught me the value of flowers and the way they change lives.”

“Change lives...” She said through her lips, a softer tone than her usual words.

“Mhm!”

The woman rested her elbows on the counter. “Then may you tell me one?”

Élodie’s lips curved upward. “A rose symbolizes devotion, it strikes a passionate red to portray a strong urge of ones self.”

“And these?” The woman pointed at the lavenders.

“It displays grace, peace, and harmony.”

The woman nodded thoughfully. “And what flower describes you?”

Élodie blinked for a moment. “I beg your pardon?”

“You seem like an elegant woman who would claim one to herself.”

She laughed softly. “Do I?”

“You have flowers everywhere. I do imagine you thought this before.”

Élodie considered the question. She finally smiled after a moment of questioning herself.

“A Gardenia flower.”

The woman tilted her head in intrigue. “What does that one mean?”

“A secret joy.”

The woman’s expression softened. “I might claim that one too.”

Élodie’s eyes widened. “It’s a beautiful joy not many know about, are you sure?”

The woman nodded. “I’d like one if possible.”

Élodie looked at the last one she kept. “It may be my last one for now...” she walked over and carefully plucked it. “But you deserve to seek joy like I have.”

The woman smiled again. “Without knowing my name, you are willing?”

Élodie laughed. “How careless of me! What should I call you by?”

“Camille.” She said, sounding more poetic by the minute. Élodie loved the name, trying to say it through her lips more than once.

“Elegant.” She claimed. “Lovely.”

“I’m glad you think so.” She smiled. “I believe Élodie has a unique charming touch.”

Élodie’s composure fell flat for a second. “Oh, it is?” She grew flushed. “Nobody ever truly said such thing before.”

Camille reached her hand in her pocket, pulling out money with a tip on the side, holding her hand on the counter and placing it gently. “This is for everything.”

Élodie’s eyes widened. “I would give it for free, you must keep this.”

“No, you deserve every penny.” Camille let out. “Besides, this will be only the first of many visits.”

Élodie’s eyes sparkled. “Please do come back again!” She gave Camille the fixed fabric and the Gardenia flower.

“I will.” Camille said politely. “If you ever have outfit suggestions, let me know.”

Élodie looked confused. “Ideas?”

“You dress gorgeous, I feel like I should up my own game.” Camille finished, opening the door slightly, bell chiming slower.

“The next time I will send my graces.” Élodie urged. “I will make it a habit.”

“Shukran.” Camille said, waving her fingers at her as she walked out.

Élodie stood there flushed for a moment longer, glancing along the desk. She carefully put the sewing needles back and headed toward her boutique display. Her favorite one.

“I will add onto you more later.” She promised. “Maybe one day with a black rose to complete.”