To a particular doe-eyed, green-haired son, the mornings were heaven-sent as he absorbed the morning sun. Soaking the rays of the glorious Prince, shiver he does, as his light kiss every inch of his bare skin. Unbridled and unabashed, alone in the desert valley, where the parched soil would turn away all his fellow forest sibling. Mimosa, as this particular Forest Elemental was called, would bloom fully while he watched Dawn rise up above the ceiling.

His fantasies always ran, wild and south, imagining that his own hands were the Prince’s palms. Travelling over his sensitive, open bud, caressing himself under a feverish touch. Oh embarrassing his pitch, gasping and echoing for miles, thank goodness it was a bare desert, all around. Cry he does, alone in his pleasure, crying out Dawn’s name in fervent desire.

Then, come he does, juices spilling like nectar from a flower, and ashamed he becomes, for dirtying his imaginary lover. Breathless and spent, he laid languid and tired, smooth, lithe back on the coarse, dry soil and boulder. Unbothered by the parched surroundings, he holds out in order to watch the Princely climbings.

Content he was to stare thousands of leagues overhead, till his skin and throat grew too dry and scratchy to withstand. Parched and withered only then he returned, crawling back sadly to the moist, humid forest.

“There you are, back again from your hide out. Too bad for you, because plenty of morning dew you missed out. Pray tell why do you play ‘disappear?’ We’re missing you, you know?” says his beautiful older cousin, Fern.

Mimosa merely turned away, blatantly ignoring the Elemental. And then comes the pinky one, all pretty with petals.

“Aww… don’t bother him,” says Lily, his other cousin, “He probably found himself a companion who found him not too dreary to converse,” sickeningly sweet, she drawled in sarcasm, clinging onto Fern’s arm like a creeper plant with an obsession.

But Mimosa made no defence, as every word spoke true. His own curt behaviour had earned him such a response in due. And also he could nary compare to his exuberant relatives, himself a dull thing, miles away from their beauty.

It was for that same reason he often stays away, ashamed to be seen and overshadowed by their gorgeous face. With his droopy hair and weak green tint, he was nothing compared to their intricate veinage and voluminous deep green foliage. It was little wonder why Mimosa was often snubbed, his resplendent relatives often taunting him for his poor wilting visage.

“But every morning?” Fern questioned, lips curled into a sneer, “Hmm! I’d like to see who would with such a dull little shrub!” Fern spat with a look of complete distaste, then spun around on his heels to leave, kicking the dirt in his face.

Tears prickled at the edges of his eyes, his cousin might as well have stabbed him, with such hurtful deride. Mimosa could barely fathom how he could have once been so blind, to pine after his cousin, all lovesick towards a swine.

They were once so close, when they were but small little sprouts, back then Fern was caring, always fending off the bullies and bigger sprouts. Then as time flew and they grew into being, Fern lost interest in the dullness Mimosa was becoming. Nonetheless, those were tales too old to reminisce, now that Mimosa had someone else to dream of wishfully.