Milk Of The Fae Parfum

THEY SAY IF YOU WANDER DEEP ENOUGH PAST THE QUIET HUSH OF THE TREES, YOU MIGHT FIND IT. A TABLE SET FOR NO ONE. PORCELAIN CUPS STILL WARM, FILLED WITH SOMETHING PALE AND GLOWING. A SWEET MILK KISSED WITH VANILLA AND ALMOND, TOPPED WITH CLOUDS OF WHIPPED CREAM THAT NEVER SEEM TO MELT. SUGAR CRYSTALS SHIMMER LIKE FROST ALONG THE RIM, CATCHING LIGHT THAT DOESN’T COME FROM THE SUN. IT SMELLS COMFORTING. FAMILIAR. LIKE A MEMORY YOU CAN’T PLACE. SWEETNESS LINGERS IN THE AIR AND BENEATH IT ALL, A GENTLE MUSK. YOU TELL YOURSELF IT’S HARMLESS. JUST A SIP. BUT THE FOREST GROWS QUIETER AS YOU LIFT THE CUP. THE SWEETNESS DEEPENS. AND SOMEWHERE, JUST BEYOND THE TREES, SOMETHING IS WATCHING, WAITING TO SEE IF YOU’LL COME BACK TOMORROW NIGHT FOR MORE. BECAUSE NO ONE EVER FINDS THE TABLE TWICE… UNLESS THEY’RE MEANT TO.