My travels bring me back to my home shore, one lined with my fellow villagers on this festival day.

I ask my love to join me for the festivities. She responds with her eyes, which bloom like her name, Iris, the Messenger of Love. Curled up in our tartan nest, a saffron sun spills over her auburn hair.

Through the day I fall in love with her more, a rainbow of two people, sharing each other’s colors.

I’m later pulled away for a long moment to cast a bar, a game I’ve never understood, but choose to play for male companionship and bonding instead.

On my return walk back to my picnic spread, I notice a crooked old woman bending down, offering my love a rose. I watch with warmth as the old woman receives a coin from my heart’s desire into her thorny hand.

Then to my horror, Iris unwittingly holds up my flask and sets the rose in. The withered flower merchant watches as my rare water travels up the rose’s stem. Red petals curl and scream, as does Iris, as the old woman lunges at the heart of my dreams.