Sebastian

"I suppose we have time for one more," Balm mused and looked over at Firebrand. "Do you have any records that could entertain them?"
His wings whirred as he shifted position. There was a slight crackle as he cleared his voice, "Perhaps. I tend to keep matters of fact, records of truth. They may lack the poetic, fanciful elements of many stories. We've had ones of terror, ones of community, mystery, and adventure. Perhaps," he looked at Balm, "we need one of love." Balm frowned in confusion, so he continued, "I've seen great beauty and love in this world. These things too are a simple fact. One action, one gesture, can speak volumes to this. Perhaps this tale, one I gathered firsthand, will show it."

"There once was a bookworm, who lived comfortably in her nook. She was safe. Comfortable. Surrounded by her beloved books, tales infinite." As he began, recognition flashed in her eyes. She knew this story well. She kept silent, letting him tell it.
"The little worm thought she was happy, and in a way, she was. She was startled one day as a feathery friend, a bird perhaps, brought a flower to her home. He placed it there, on a nearby stack of books as she read. The movement caught her eye, but he said nothing. She didn't know why he was here, or why he had brought the flower, so she asked, 'What's this?'
He smiled a little and said, 'A flower, for you.'
'Well, uh, thank you,' she said brightly. 'This looks like one of these from near the path in the garden.'
'It is. I thought it would look better here.' He shrugged with a shy smile and left.
The bookworm was baffled. She would've liked to say she paid it little more thought, but the scent of the flower and the strangeness of the encounter lingered equally in her mind.
It was beautiful. There were plenty more just outside. She could get one herself anytime. But she didn't. She just stayed here. Where it was safe, and comfortable. With her bounty of stories she could visit anywhere anytime.

Her days remained much the same as they ever were. Peace. Tranquility. Safety. But every now and then, the scent of flowers would waft in on the wings of that bird. He would chat agreeably about whatever: botany, the books, the sights beyond. She never asked him why he visited, though she wondered.
The flowers built up, though as all blooms must they wilted. At first she threw them away; she let them return to the ground. Soon she began to press them. Carefully, mindfully, and while they were still fresh she would press them between the books she prized so highly. Soon she had bundles of dried flowers hung about her home. It was still safe, still comfortable, but now the scent of flowers seemed constant. It was brighter.
She didn't know why she kept them. Perhaps it was because they were for her. The dried flowers were lovely, but they lacked something the fresh ones he brought had. Perhaps… there were some things that couldn't be perfectly preserved in a book."

"Firebrand-" Balm started, but cut herself off.
"Was it not a good story to share?" He asked with a frown.
She shook her head. "No, no. I just- Didn't know you had stories like that."
"I've learned a lot. As I said, the world is beautiful."


"It looks just like you!" Balm exclaimed.
"Are you sure??" Sebastian groaned.
"Well, mostly. It's soft and lovable just like you for sure. And green!"
"Alright fine, it's just like me," he said with a fond smile.

Mate