It had been ages since Dolce had a good cherry blossom.

They didn’t taste like cherries, you see. No, they were far milder. A speck of sweetness, a fancy of the flower’s scent, yet it did not hurry away from you. A single petal could stay on the tongue for minutes. A whole pile of them? Well! For that many, you’d better have a comfortable place to sit, a nice tree to lie against, and a friendly river to listen to.

He was in good company; a particularly fluffy barnacle among his peers. They weren’t sure where all the water’d gone, and they weren’t inclined to believe his wild tales of a sythe made of sunlight and a Princess out for a stroll. What were they to expect? Soft and silly all the way through with this one. Though, he seemed to know [i]something[/i] of proper patience. Perhaps his wasn’t a [i]completely[/i] lost cause. Some time, some quiet, maybe he’d amount to something yet. 

To their deep satisfaction - though they’d never admit it out loud - Dolce heeded the wisdom of his elders. He had time, quiet, and quite the pile to work through. He let the world come to him, drifting in a steady, uninterrupted current. Trimmed riverbanks, yet unharmed barnacles. A winding path, yet squared banks. Flowers! Fresh flowers. Bright and colorful and wonderful. Wouldn’t Vasilia like a bouquet when she awoke? Wouldn’t she love a picnic here? Beautiful, purposefully beautiful. Maintained meticulously, within limits.

A building. Standing alone. 

An open door.