MYO Questline

Prompt 2:

Far from the suburban lifestyles, and the rushing lifestyle of every day life, is a small cottage tucked into a warm wood, where little birds and animals gather to graze at grass, near a neatly trimmed garden with flowers of all kinds of different species and genii. Surrounding the cottage are evergreen trees, with ripe and juicy fruits hanging from the leaves, but the biggest and undoubtedly most cared for tree is a large lemon tree, with bright yellow lemons gently swaying in the cool breeze.

Inside the cottage, an old lady sits, gently knitting, her knitting needles going clack-clack-clack with each row of knitting that she does. The sun shines brightly through the lace-curtained windows, and the soft sounds of old music buzz through the analog radio, the old woman humming along as she does so. It’s some old jazz, the trumpets harmonizing with the piano. The house is neatly decorated with trinkets – little porcelain pigs and fine china on one side, and expertly sewn ragdolls sitting propped up on a shelf along with little knitted teddy bears. Pictures of a warm and happy family hang on the walls of the living room.

On the table, gently steaming, is a pretty rattan steamer, set neatly next to a teapot decorated with a blue lace design, gently steaming away at a steady pace. The old lady sighs a little, her knitting needles clattering gently as she sets them down on the table next to her plush sofa, and then glances over at the steamer. It had been a gift from her granddaughter – an odd berry of some type. She had said to prepare some food, and steam the little berry until it was ‘finished’ – but what would be ‘finished’ she wasn’t quite sure.

It had been a while since she had last spent time with her granddaughter, actually – it was lovely to see her again, even if it was for a few moments, just to pass her this berry and ensure her that she wasn’t forgotten, despite the fact that she hadn’t been visited for quite a while.

That being said, the old lady found she didn’t mind all that much, even if the local kids occasionally called her a witch.

The steamer’s steam seems to rise to a peak, and the old lady stands, slowly shambling her way over to the steamer.

The kitchen is exceedingly retro, with a pretty mint-green fridge her daughter had gotten her as a gift for her 80^th birthday, and a kettle gently boiling on the stove. The teapot was growing a little cold, so she hoped whatever was steaming in there would come out soon.

“I’ve almost forgotten,” the old lady tuts to herself. “You can’t have tea without honey.”

She turns from the steamer, walking over to the shelves, laden with various ingredients and condiments – on this shelf, she finds her jams and compotes, made regularly using fruits from her own garden, and occasionally sold at the farmer’s market, and retrieves the honey – stored in a bear bottle that she’d sourced from a neighbor’s recycling.

She returns to the steamer, and watches as the cover shakes and trembles, and then pops off.

“Oh my…!” (532 words)