for @vermillionvisions !
That smell.
The smell that kissed his senses.
It was like a fresh, homecooked meal, perched atop a windowsill, enticing him further and further in. The aroma instantly reminded him of home, his home, all those years ago—it was familiar. His heart began to jitter and jump about amidst his chest, something he mutely, desperately sought to quell. Alas, his heart refused to listen.
Slowly, he weaned himself off his cigarette. Though he still smelled staunchly of tobacco, as he let fresh air plump his lungs, bloat his chest, so he could home in on this fragrance. Slowly, he began to let his nares act as his guide, weaving through the streets of Motostoke with increasing precision.
The smell became stronger. Stronger. And stronger still.
A crowd of people hugged around a person, sickly adoration dripping from their lips, filling their eyes. Octavius lingered, quietly waiting for the crowd to begin dispersing. He quietly hoped that it was someone in the giddy masses, not the person in the middle but—his fears became reality. Not only that, but it—
It …
It was her.
… Or, at least, it looked like her. Memories lashed his mind’s eye like irate waves thrashing against the rocky mountainside, threatening his heart to simply leap out of his chest and flop pathetically upon the ground before him.
She was short. Her long, dark brown hair caught the light, painting it in strokes of auburn. Her dress, pluming out modestly from her hips, sported cherries much like the cherubi that chirped and scuttled around her heels. She seemed energetic and bubbly, tending to the needs of fans that’d gathered.
Eventually, bit by bit, the crowd depleted.
And he was left standing there. He quietly took a drag of his cigarette—it was, admittedly, nearing its expiration, but he took it for all it was worth. Hope felt prickly, driving into his chest, hurting him. He didn’t want to believe she was the real deal, so he tried to think of anything that could explain why she looked and smelled just like her.
Like Ruby.
