A Cook and Her Botanist, an unlikely pair.
Within the forest of Ma'al, a small stew was brewing on a cottage stove, and a love was starting to bloom around it. It had been about 2-3 months since Ochre had found Cheri, rough-hewn and shaking, clawing her way out of what Ochre swore was once a small rabbithole but how seemed to fall endlessly below the moss and underbrush. Ochre had offered her a place to stay, of course, there wasn't much else you could do with someone who seemed like they just saw hell and had apparently climbed out of it. It was a small miracle that Ochre's clothes fit Cheri, given that her attire that she was found in didn't survive as well as she did.
It had taken Cheri a week to get back on her feet, and two weeks to get back to doing what she loved; Cooking. In that way, Ochre took her presence as some divine act of kindness, for Ochre had a knack for growing fruits and vegetables but not much of a skill in knowing what to do with them. Cheri took to baking up all manners of pies and platters, before branching out onto soups and salads. Ochre could only look on in a mix of awe and pride, watching breathlessly as the Lovabun would prepare and present meals that felt like they'd be served at a kings banquet. Even when she was set on the task of tending to her plants, her eyes would find themselves wandering and wondering how such a beautiful maiden would cut and dice with such presicion, how she made an artful flower out of a strawberry, or a bouqet out of a banana bunch. Ochre had a feeling that Cheri was specifically moulding her meals after plants as if to make Ochre smile.
It was working.
Ochre, somehow slowly and all at once, found herself falling in love with Cheri. Ochre cherished every moment with the bun, every night spent under blankets cuddled together with hot tea, spilling stories of their childhoods and their life before eachother. Cheri would sometimes meet her eyes, and they sparkled, illuminated not by the energy inside like a Gleam would, but by the leaping and lapping fire beside them. It danced in her eyes, rhymically and readily lapping and highlighting the light pink shine that flicked across her eyelids. Her smile was beautiful, great dimples set into the topology of her face, smoothly accenting her full and round cheeks. Her cheeks always held such a gentle blush too, somehow accenting her heart shaped markings so tenderly. Ochre would swear that this woman was somehow sculpted by the gods themselves, if she were not sitting before her.
Life with Cheri was somehow everything Ochre ever needed, and she never knew it so strongly until now. She couldn't imagine a life without the sizzle of the pot on the stove, the chop, chop, chop of the knife on the cutting board, or Cheri's silky cheery voice recanting ballads and folklore shanties. Cheri seemed to love her too, although she was shy with her words, Cheri's actions spoke miles ahead. There was a softness between them, a gentle flicker of passion they shared for eachother. When Ochre returned from her gathering outings, Cheri would always poke her head round or jump up from the couch to give liberal hugs and eager listening ears and tell tales of Shallot's shennangians.
Ochre loved Cheri, and Cheri loved Ochre and for them, despite the cirumstances, it is enough.