Marcus shopped the entire town seeking the perfect gift for Rebecca's birthday but to no avail. All of the shops that he visited sold beautiful hats with a saucy tilt and peacock feathers, gloves made of brushed deerskin, ornate hair combs set with rare stones twinkling up at him, oriental silks intended for the creation of the finest of dresses to be made in France or London, but nothing seemed good enough for Rebecca.
The last store on the street was a humble shop with unique jewelry, fur caps, and tailored ladies' boots for the most discriminating of clients. He wanted something that no one sold. Rebecca is a rare woman. The gift must reflect her value.
The shopkeeper, aged and dressed peculiarly stooped, polishing a pair of ladies' boots and studying his shopper.
"Your sweetheart is very special," he quietly stated.
Marcus, startled, looked over at the man, smiling as he took in the details and nodded at the shopkeeper then continued shopping.
The elderly gentleman nodded his head knowingly and pulled out a tray of beautiful perfume bottles filled with amber liquid.
Calling Marcus over to the back counter, he said, "Come, sample this perfume. I believe one of these scents will make your beloved happy. I guarantee that the money will purchase more than you bargain for."
Marcus examined the tray of bottles filled with amber-colored liquid before picking up one intricate designed bottle to smell. The shopkeeper opened the bottle for him. A mysterious scent flooded the air with an earthy, exotic tone, so light and airy that Marcus' eyes met the shopkeeper's rheumy eyes and he nodded in agreement.
The shopkeeper wrapped the glass bottle gently in burgundy silk. Money changed hands, and the transaction was complete. Marcus and his gift departed the store to a friendly doorbell chime.
The shopkeeper resumed gently polishing a boot and chuckled to himself at what would soon take place.
Art created in Blue Willow AI generator.
This is my five-minute freewrite
using prompt amber by @mariannewest
Thank you for reading 📚.
