The witch takes on her niece as an apprentice.

Aunt Clara dons an apron as black as night with golden constellations on the fabric. She ties her hair back and up so each curl sweeps like an ocean’s wave down her back. There is a warm fire in her that Rosa feels as she drifts close and the oven opens. It’s a comforting warmth and as the niece pulls the freshly baked tea scones she hears the hum of approval.

She finds herself in her Aunt’s clothes, hems long and vintage in make and a handmade denim apron where the stains had been covered with hand embroidered flowers. As she places the fruits of her labour on the cooling rack she catches the reflection of the pair of them and winces.

She couldn’t be any more different from her Aunt. 

The witch flips the sign and almost immediately that the ancient brass chime above it is ringing. 

“Oh my god! What IS that smell?” 

A woman with dark skin and amazingly intricate flowers tattooed up her arm comes in backwards with an entire bucket of fresh flowers that block her face. The hair is wild and dyed like a strawberry macaron and her stride is confident even blinded by the blooms as she makes her way to the counter. 

Rosa doesn’t see her face until she plops the bucket on the bar counter and when she does she jumps at the number of piercings in her ears and on her left eyebrow just as dark as her eyes. 

“Kiera~!” Clara sings. On a tray she puts before the woman there are three cups of silvery and blue hues. She brushes some blue curls back. “That would because my niece is an excellent baker and incredibly cute to boot.” 

“Auntie!” Rosa stammers before she catches the gaze of the stranger who is observing her with a smirk. “Uh. H-hello.”

“Hey,” the woman replies and sticks out a hand, “Name’s Kiera, you can call me Kiki. I run the flower shop across the street. Man, I could smell your baking from across the street and it’s de-fucking-vine~!”  

Rosa flinches at the swear and takes the hand. She’s not used to anyone dropping it so casually.

“N-nice to meet you,” she says and immediately hates how squeaky she sounds. “I’m Rosa Canina.”  They shake hands and Kiera traces her features keenly.

“You are adorable,” the florist says at last and Rosa jumps. “Lizzie’s going to love you!” 

Sweet heavens, she wants to just hide in the folds of her aprons please. 

The owl hoot of her Aunt’s laugh draws her gaze over. She’s picking off the heads of several of the flowers and some leaves of another plant and places them in a teapot. As she turns a small hourglass timer, she pours just barely boiled water over the plants and a burst of mint and something floral brushes over Rosa’s nose.

“Lizzie is Kiera’s business partner,” Aunt Clara says with a knowing glance up to the florist who rubs the back of her head in response with a grin. “Rosa will be here for a bit helping her poor ancient aunt with her little tea shop. Treat her nice now or I’ll start a tab.”

“Ooh,” the florist whistles. “She really does love you. She doesn’t threaten just for anyone you know.” 

The last grain of sand falls.

“Chamomile and Mint, ladies,” the witch announces pushing the cups toward them and they each take one.  “Good for menstrual pain, blood sugar and-

Her aunt’s eyes drift up and into Rosa’s soul.

“...anxiousness.”

Rosa pauses and closes her eyes with a grimace. Was it that obvious? It must be. She was pretty pathetic at the moment. Feeling pretty stupid and gross like garbage and-

“Ah.”

Kiera contented sigh cuts into her thoughts and she feels the soft bump of her aunt’s hip against her. Clara’s looking at her with those eyes. The ones that just know. She feels like an accosted child - a twenty seven year old child. 

With a nod, Rosa drinks and embraces the kiss of the cup to her lips. It’s a perfect temperature. The scent is floral and it coats her tongue in a way that fills her up, up to the top with warmth and then there’s flowers in her eyes and the smell of soft breezes. She feels each lid slip shut and imagines the whisper of a chime on the wind that takes her and her and pulls her back, down, down to earth and as she opens them again she feels a weight off her shoulders.

Aunt Clara is smiling. 

Then the door practically slams open-

“CLARA-BA~”

And a young familiar man pushes through the door.