The Sweetheart Keeto
Owner: Bliss

Age: 2 years, 9 months, 3 weeks

Born: April 25th, 2016

Adopted: 2 years, 9 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: April 25th, 2016

Pet Spotlight Winner
February 11th, 2018


  • Level: 5
  • Strength: 13
  • Defense: 10
  • Speed: 13
  • Health: 11
  • HP: 11/11
  • Intelligence: 0
  • Books Read: 0
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Unemployed

"The end of the Great War has brought cultural revolution to the streets of Paris. Women are no longer content to keep the family hearth warm. They stroll the streets in skirts that leave the legs exposed to the sultry summer air. They complement one another in light voices, delighting in the glances of young men who will not number among the dead. The music halls and cinema screens are a grand distraction, helping the children of war to slowly forget what it is to wake at two in the morning, whispering prayers and fully expecting not to see another sunrise.

Leonie always rides her little bicycle to work. It is red as the skin of a summer apple and the wheels are well greased. She never neglects her bicycle and always protects it from the rain. It is her only means to enter the heart of the city, to do the work she loves.

The little perfume shop has been on the corner for just two years, though some of the brands stocked on its shelves have graced the necks of women for decades. It is a quaint brick two-story building with small pink flowers growing in boxes outside the windows on the second floor. The plate glass window allows a glance at bottles blown in delicate globes and given names that few foreigners can pronounce. This does not prevent men from purchasing expensive gifts for their wives and sweethearts. It is well known that the greatest scents are bottled in France.

She greets the other two girls working the counter as she places her little beige bag on the shelf below her workstation and glances over the chart of the prior day's sales. The girls are encouraged to give samples of those brands that are taking up needed shelf space.

Leonie's success in sales has little to do with orders handed down by some corporate man a thousand miles away. It is no challenge to sell a single bottle of perfume. The challenge is in finding the scent that will turn a wary shopper into a loyal lifelong customer.

The woman in the pleated skirt ponders two musky scents. Leonie is happy to grant her a sample of each, her own vivid memories of growing up in the countryside awakened by the strong scents. The first has hints of the wildflowers that lined the little dirt road she walked to help her grandmother gather eggs from the chickens. The second is a headier musk with an undertone of leather, a reminder of evenings spent in her father's study, making paper dolls as he smoked his pipe and looked over some paper that would end up on the fire. The woman chooses the second bottle, proclaiming it to be better suited to her tastes. Leonie wraps the purchase in crinkly cream paper and thanks the woman for her custom.

The next girl is closer to Leonie's own age. The sample she requests awakens memories of helping Mama in the kitchen, blending freshly harvested apples with cinnamon and cloves to make apple tarts. Half would go to the little white steeple, to fill the bellies of hungry children misplaced by the war. Sometimes her mother would allow her to make shapes from the leftover dough and nestle them atop the filling.

The woman all in pink is dressed in the older style, a conservative gown that falls to her ankles, barely revealing a pair of pristine white socks. She scowls at the first scent presented, beginning to argue with the girl they all called Menue for her short height.

Leonie steps in when the woman begins to shout, calling the girl all manner of horrible names. It happens this way sometimes. There are plenty of older ladies who are pleasant despite their lack of interest in exploring scent beyond those few brands they know and trust. These are a joy to assist. Then there are the ones who resent any changes to their world view.

The Pink Damsel, as she will become known behind upraised hands, walks away in a huff without making a purchase.

By the end of the day, she has made a dozen sales, including two to repeat customers she knows well. She takes the road beside the river, enchanted as always by the little stone bridge created from a thousand colored stones. Some claim the bridge is a piece of enchantment that was left from the days when ancient kings did battle. She smiles at a trio of children as one tosses a coin to the river and whispers a wish. The floral scent of high summer is on the air. Leonie begins to whistle a tune she learned as a girl just for the joy of singing. The subtle scent coming from the flowering shrubs of her neighborhood is its own glorious perfume, one that welcomes her home.

Story by Pureflower
Art by Scarlet
Profile by Paula
Pet Edit by Morse

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