What smells the warmest?

I once held her hands as we strolled down the cobblestone path along our garden, intertwining our fingers together. I remembered that her soft hands that were as smooth as silk, and pale like a full moon. She was my love, the one whom I have searched for throughout my life, and her soul fits right next to mine. Life was good to us then; we had a house, an obedient golden retriever, and time for each other every now and then. Our house was painted white, the window frames were a cheery orange and the doors were purple. Our balcony overlooked the nearby sea, and we woke to beautiful sunrises every morning. I would give her a kiss before I left the bed for work, and she would hug me from behind as I brushed my teeth. Life was good to us.

She asked me this question, not too long ago, as she watched me put on some makeup for work - ‘Lily, what smells the warmest?’ At that time, I didn’t know how to reply. ‘Give me sometime to think about it,’ I said, after some thought. But me being me, I totally forgot all about the question as I became trapped in the haze of endless documents and proposals at the office. The question slipped my mind, and she didn’t press me for an answer. She was an understanding person, a great cook, and just so mysterious at times. Whenever I returned home, she would greet me with a world class smile on her face or a cheeky grin before ushering me to the dining table for dinner. Food was always there, but I could never fathom how she, a person who works as hard as I am, would always have the energy and time to make dinner for the both of us. In return, I get to practice my massaging skills on her aching shoulders after a refreshing bath together at night.

Life continues on as a fairytale, but fate was cruel to me. Perhaps it was jealous of my life with my love, as it took her away from me. You see, one day, when I came home, there was no warm smile or a cheeky grin greeting me at the door, or a lovely lady decked in an apron ushering me to the table. The house was bleak; its white walls never seemed so plain, and the orange and purple so mocking. Red was strewn all over the carpet, and on it laid my beautiful girl spread across the crimson like a fallen angel. Words fail to describe my shock as I knelt beside her like a prince to a princess, stroking her pale face, calling out to her to wake up as my fingers fumbled to phone for the ambulance. Rationale abandoned me slowly as it dawned to me that I was too late. She was cold to the touch, like ice, or maybe it was the chill in my heart that made it seem so.

Please.

I held her to my body, wishing that my warmth would wake her up, or by some miracle she would suddenly give me a smile and shout ‘Surprise!’ But nothing happened. As I knelt there, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor with the wind before me.

‘What smells the warmest?’

I knew then, what the answer was.

Fairytales, my love, and only you would smell like the fairytale you bring me.

But she would never hear me speak again.