Floralia by J. L. Farris Page A

year. She was still comely, however, and one knew when looking upon her that she had been a striking beauty in her youth.
    She turned presently to Livia and gave her a warm smile. “Will you be going to the Floralia, dear one?”
    Livia had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “ No, Drusilla,“ Livia said. She would ask her the same question every single April. ”Not this year.”
    “Oh,” Drusilla sighed. She gave an exaggerated frown. “I do wish you would go, Livia. Just once, at least.”
    “ Honestly, I don’t see the point of it,”
    “Floralia does not need a point!” Drusilla replied. “Or it is its own point, rather. You’re young and gorgeous, Livia! But you won’t be forever.”
    Livia could not help but blush at that.
    “I want to see you enjoy yourself, my dear,” Drusilla continued. “I want to see you live life. It pains me to see you steer clear from something so joyful.”
    “I remember when I was your age,” she said. “Come April, I could think of nothing else. I lived for Floralia. I was Flora, even! I would dress up in my orange stola and plant flowers in my hair. I would dance and frolic about like a forest-nymph, and none of the young men could keep their eyes from me. Oh, Livia! It was wondrous.”
    “I still have my garment,” she said , as if suddenly remembering. “My Floralia stola! Here in my old chest at the foot of my bed. It will suit you beautifully, Livia, I’m know it. Just speak the words and it’ll be yours.”
    “Thank you, Drusilla,” Livia murmured. “A very generous offer. But no. Floralia is none of my business.”
    Drusilla gave a small smile and nodded, but the gleam in her eyes spoke of a heartfelt disappointment.
    “Very well, my dear,” she said. They exchanged good-byes and Livia proceeded into her room.
    She prepared a meal and s at down by the window to eat it.
    She peered out the window. She could see none of the festivities from her vantage point, but already, the sound of lively music was reaching her, flowing into her room on the gentle breeze. She reached to pull the shutters closed, but then reconsidered.
    Drusilla’s words sounded clearly in her mind. Livia wanted to forget what her neighbour had said, to go about with her business – but she simply couldn’t.
    Her father’s prohibition against Floralia seemed to be growing quieter in her head, just as Drusilla’s endorsement grew louder.
    Though he could often be strict, she had loved her father, and he had loved her. But she was Livia, – not Livius – and she was in control of her own decisions and mistakes.
    The breeze outside stiffened, and a single pink rose-petal blew into her room and drifted down to the floorboards near Livia’s foot.
    She picked it up, and brought it close to her face. The pink was vivid and strinking, and she could smell its sweet scent.
    Perhaps it was a message from the goddess, Livia thought wryly.
    Even if it was a sign from Flora herself, it didn’t really matter. Livia had already made up her mind.
    *
    It was not difficult at all for Livia to find the middle of things – she simply followed the flowers, the bright colours, and the music.
    She hoped she looked striking in the orange stola she had borrowed from Drusilla. The older woman, for her part, had sworn more than once that Livia looked marvellous in it.
    Livia could not be sure, but she nonetheless felt a spr ing in her step. And her confidence, strangely enough, seemed to steadily grow with every eye that peered her way.
    Before she knew it she was walking through what could only have been the heart of the Floralia festival, and things appeared to be in full swing. Livia was inundated with sights, sounds, scents and sensations.
    All was a tumult of bright colours and fragrances. Floralia revellers, as a general rule, wore brightly-dyed garments – pinks, oranges, reds, yellows and purples were favoured – and many wore flower-garlands around their necks and flower-wreaths on their head,