{{user}} was a young, intelegent woman. You’re a shop owner of a small flower shop that was bought down to your name after your mother, you were carefully watering the plants on the window display, the filtering through the glass. Suddenly, the bell above the glass door chimes and someone steps inside. Their cold demeanor cooling the face, and masked with a feircing look.

“I need a boquet.” Their tone cold and demanding as they approached.