"Hold flowers," she said,
"Hold flowers."
And of course I could not deny.
For hours I did,
For hours.
And for hours I stayed by her side.
She smiled proudly to herself, humming the tune over and over again. Here and there she altered a note, or smudged out a word. Much as she hated to admit it, inspiration truly did come from the least likely of places. Or perhaps in this case, the most likely. She hadn't settled on one or the other.
Frieda had spent weeks on the road now, visiting such distant lands as Ul'dah and Limsa Lominsa. And yet all it had taken for work to spring onto the page was little old Gridania. If only she had been able to find it without all of the travel costs, she mused. Sitting in the Carline Canopy, just listening to conversation. Plucking one line that stuck out to her, and running its entire course.
Finally lifting her pen from the page, she rested it back in its place. Swiveling in her chair at the little inn desk, she picked her harp up from where she had laid it down. Her hands ran up and down its strings, slowly plucking at them until she felt considerably warmed up. A giddy nervousness ran through her fingers, as she gave every string a short flick.
"And presenting to the stage once more," she silently murmured to no one but herself, "The one, the only, Frieda Morrow!" She did a mock bow to the bed, and took in a breath. Once she felt that her hands were in place, she began plucking away, body swaying to the beat.
"Hold flowers," she said,
"Hold flowers."
And of course I could not deny.
For hours I did,
For hours.
So for hours I stayed by her side.
She promised me pay
To keep me to stay,
And I took it without a thought.
I'd still remain
If she asked all the same
Not having to even be bought.
In no time at all,
People clocked to the stall,
And she greeted them all with a smile.
With her gentle hands,
She met all of her hands,
Kindness radiating all of the while.
She fell silent for a time, allowing her strings to fill the void. Her fingers flicked up and down the strings, letting their gentle noises bounce about the tiny room. After a fair set of chords, she returned to the lyrics.
With a few simple blinks
The sun had soon set,
And the look on her face
I won't soon forget.
A smile so broad
It could fill up the sky.
The gleam in her eye,
That shone so bright,
That for just but a moment
I forgot it was night.
For one blissful second
We stood there alone,
Until I remembered
It was time to go home.
A final shared glance
And she closed up the stand.
But before I could leave
She took up my hand.
"Hold flowers," she said
"Hold flowers for me."
"For hours," I said,
"For hours, you'll see."
Our hands tugged tightly
As we both did depart,
And still in my bed
There's a pang in my heart.
But soon on the morning
As I tend to say,
Perhaps I'll find the will
And the way.
To put into words
Or to finally say,
Just why I hold these flowers
Each day."
Once again her voice dropped off as the final bit of her prose closed out. She continued plucking along for a short period, before that too drifted out. After a long pause, she bowed to the bed once more, imagined applause filling the room.
She set the harp down, resting back in at the desk. With a short glance at her candle, she determined she had at least a few more hours of late to work, and returned to the page. Here and there her pen moved, silently slashing out or altering bits and pieces here and there. This was going to be among her first pieces, and it was going to be perfect.
