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Phina D Wolf ~ Sylvia Di Fluer ~ Female
Sylvia is a Crime Scene Photographer, an odd job for such a delicate seeming Kalon. Originally she was going to go into Law, but after the case of her sister’s disappearance went unsolved due to unclear photographic evidence, she devoted herself to ensuring no other family ever felt her greif. “Crime Scene Photographer” does not summon the image of someone who is integral in solving a case, someone who provides and discovers invaluable evidence.
In all the detective movies, they’re in the background, snapping pictures seemingly at random. They aren’t viewed as someone as clever as the computer guys, always enhancing photos and running data points, or as brave as the detectives, chasing down the culprit in a dark alley at midnight. But to Sylvia, they have the most important job of all.
The evidence she has meticulously collected has been the deciding factor in dozens of cases. Often, just one misstep, just one inch of ground un-photographed could have let a guilty kalon go free, releasing them upon society.
Even though her sister remains unfound, Sylvia forces herself to focus on other things. She uses her frustrated energy to drive herself to be more, rigorous, more thorough, to photograph everything, as unimportant as it might seem, for she vows that no case she works on will be left unsolved due to a lack of photographic evidence. That lack tore her family apart, and she refuses to let it happen to anyone else.
When Sylvia was young, she wanted to be like her sister, the best florist in town. Diana could effortlessly craft beautiful bouquets, seemingly selecting and arranging the flowers at random, and producing a breathtaking display. Flowers were her art, her passion, her comfort, and to Sylvia, they were her magic.
Ever since her sister’s kidnapping however, flowers have been bitter sweet. The memory of her sister tarnishes their beauty and their magic is all but gone. But so many beautiful memories are tied to each flower, Sylvia finds herself still drawn in by the sultry scent and vibrant colors.
Some days, when she feels lonely, she will go to a florists or nursery, and wander the isles. As she allows her eyes to drift over the displays, the different flowers gently offer memories of her time with her sister.
The Lilly of the Vally offers her the day when she was eight, and her sister was crafting bouquets for a wedding. The wife had specifically requested her bouquet include Lillies of the Valley, and Diana’s response had surprised her.
“Oh, they’re perfect for a wedding!” Sylvia had exclaimed, “So lovely and white!”
“Ahh, but everyone uses Lilly of the Valley.” Diana disagreed, “Yes, they are lovely flowers, but I prefer to use them for baby showers. Don’t they look like little hats?” She offered her sister a sprig, and she took it, examining the flowers,
“I suppose they do, and that makes much more sense than having them in a wedding. Who wears hats like that to a wedding?” Young Sylvia said, shaking her head.
“You see, just because everyone else does it one way, doesn’t mean that that is the best way.” Diana said, taking the sprig and tucking it behind her sister’s ear, “There, it look much prettier on you than it does in the bouquet.”
Roses offer her the day when she was seventeen, almost ready to start college, and her sister was making a corsage for her prom.
“Are you sure you’re finished?” Sylvia asked worriedly, “It’s so simple! Everyone will have the big ones, like you normally sell. Why is mine so small?”
Diana offered it to her and she took it gently. “What would you add?” Diana asked gently, smiling a little.
Sylvia examined the corsage, searching for a flower that would add to it’s beauty. It was simple, three small roses, one red, one purple, one cream, and a few sprigs of baby’s breath. “I…I guess nothing.” she admitted. “It doesn’t seem to need it.”
“Just because something is bigger, doesn’t mean it’s better.” Diana said, taking the corsage and placing it in the cooler to wait until the next day, “And eventually, if you try to add more, you end up with less.”
And Bluebells. Sylvia can never look at Bluebells too long before the tears start to form. Because on the last day she saw her sister, she was making a bouquet of Bluebells.
“Why do you like bluebells so much?” Nineteen year old Sylvia asked, sitting on a counter, swinging her legs as she watcher her sister working.
“I’m not sure.” Diana admitted, “They always seem so bitter sweet to me, so beautiful, but so sad. They make me think of a winter day, not a pretty snowy one, but a grey day, long, long ago. The church bells are chiming, chiming the hour, always three. Three in the morning, and a lone child stands in a graveyard, clutching a single sprig of Bluebell. He’s talking, but I can’t ever hear him. He’s crying too, as he lays the flower down, on three graves. Two are for adults, Thomas and Mary, but the third…the third is tiny. For another child, maybe a baby. Baby Sofie.” She stopped, sighing, “It must be a scene from a book I read, or a movie I watched, long ago. I wish I could find it again, I want to remember what happens to the poor boy.”
Sylvia looked more closely at the flower, now enriched with another’s memory. “I never knew flowers could have a story.” She said softly.
Diana smiled, the last time Sylvia ever saw her smile, “Oh, every flower has a story. You just need to find it.”
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by Lucida » Fri Jan 19, 2018 3:53 pm 
