The gold wrapping the perfume bottle's lid shimmered as it caught the window's morning light. Small particles of dust drew his eyes, swirling and dancing in the air as Mother lifted the bottle from her nightstand. She lifted the lid with care and squeezed the pump, filling the air with tiny glass-like droplets which danced in timeless motion. With a smile his mother held her breath as jasmine met porcelain skin. He, too, held his breath as if their exhalations might taint the oils' purity. Only when every droplet had fallen did he allow himself a slow deep breath, filling his nose and lungs with the scent.
Mother's cold expression melted into a beautiful smile which led him to believe the perfume contained some kind of magic. For at that moment he saw her in a true state of bliss, something hidden behind the depression of his father's death. He loved to see her smile. For reasons he never quite understood it reminded him of his father.
