Essence of the Other World FOMO 2025

“She was the most beautiful among us,” sobbed the mayor's wife. “And the kindest,” cried the best friend.
Tears streamed down the faces of the mourners. It was hard to bear. The tragedy shook the entire village community.
A framed black-and-white picture with a ribbon only hinted at how enchanting the deceased truly was. Young and delicate, with her whole life ahead of her. Her silky hair always smelled of powder, and her skin had been soft and flawless.
“Because she bathed in rose water and powdered herself with heliotrope,” the postwoman knew.
“We still don’t know which flower cream she used,” lamented the village plump woman, who was more saddened by having to bury the unsolved mystery. A bit too emotional, she tossed a handful of vanilla pods into the grave. “Behave yourself,” whispered her bald husband, nudging her in the side. He found it hard to hide his genuine sorrow, so as not to disturb the peace at home.

United, they now stood at the grave, taking turns tossing ethereal leaves onto the lowered coffin. None of the villagers seemed surprised, as the powder doll was known for her helpfulness and medical know-how. She regularly made house calls and healed broken hearts with anise and eucalyptus, which she conjured from her little purple suitcases.

The loudest sniffles came from the row of young admirers, for none of them had been able to save the beauty.
Because their eyes were already so swollen, the village heartthrob accidentally dropped his used handkerchief into the hole instead of the amber chunk. She had loved the autumn-sweet scent of amber. He would sometimes let her smell it when he was allowed to dance a waltz with her in return.

But there was good news: The perpetrator could be identified on the day of the funeral by his dirty fingernails, which were secured as earthy traces on the victim's dress. Who would have thought? It was the gravedigger Pat Schouli!

Oh dear, what a sad story. Unfortunately, my heart felt exactly the same while testing it. An indescribable beauty appears in the first two seconds. Feminine, delicate, sweet, and primarily powdery. Yes, that’s how I want to smell. Just before one can grasp it and hold it to the heart, earthy, dirty grave shovels appear, wanting to pull it away. A struggle for the pure soul begins. In the background, anise makes its presence known and finds an audience with the ethereal eucalyptus. However, the flowers are too far away to really witness the spectacle. Vanilla defends itself, coming through well. The rest goes unnoticed.

The soul thief, which inevitably reminds me of rot or damp earth, usually doesn’t sit well with me.
For some, the combination may work well, but I simply cannot separate them; patchouli bothers me.

Thus, a veil of sorrow lays over my mood, for I can no longer redeem my porcelain fairy. She is too far down in the grave. Sadly, I release my grip and leave her to the lord of the earth.

As a farewell, I carve “... unfortunately, you will never be mine” into the wooden cross. Rest in peace, you village beauty.

As I have already run away, she managed to free one leg from the grave. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the patience to wait that long.

Thank you, dear Pollita, for the testing opportunity.

P.S.: I know that raw amber chunks smell terrible. I just romanticized that fact a bit for the story.