Sometimes we inherit thorns, not flowers.
From the moment she was a seed, she found herself trapped in a flowerpot. She could not understand why looking beyond its boundaries was so forbidden.
She knew she was a flower, but her mother insisted on reminding her of her thorns, for her grandmother had also been a rose.
She looked at the garden and could not recognize herself in the olfactory family she had been assigned to. Although she was a rose, the floral notes did not reveal her true identity. The laws of perfumery imposed rules upon her that she could not fit into — neither the labels of her era nor the narrow vessels that were far too small for her soul.
She felt like a rare bouquet, a blend of singular essences — some reaching their full splendor in the freshness of dawn, others revealing themselves beneath the warmth of the full sun.
But if simply being a flower was already limiting, who would imagine she could carry a fragrance beyond what was expected of her? She had been taught to hide her aroma among petals that had never yet opened.
Despite her age-old captivity, she was sweet in just the right measure. Her presence could be sensed from afar, spreading the alchemy of aromas — a dance of facets that surpassed elegance and versatility, filling moments with passion.
Yet her freedom remained imprisoned within the greenhouse of generations. Suffocated, she could not bloom. Until one day, she dared to look beyond the artificial glass and discovered that her potential could expand.
She made an immense effort. She broke the bond and stepped away from the bouquet, overcoming established rules and patterns.
Freed from the knot, she opened herself and allowed the wind to carry her petals away. At first, they danced inside the greenhouse; then they flew freely across the grass. And high above, enchanted by her own lightness, she discovered the intensity of her fragrance — a scent once considered “outside the existing palette of aromas.” It was not floral, woody, or citrus.
IT WAS UNIQUE.
A profound gratitude filled her heart. She wanted more, for she knew she could become far more than anyone had ever imagined for her. Without resistance, she allowed a gust of wind to carry her far beyond that place.
From above, she observed the symmetrical rows of flower beds and, once again, felt that although everything was blooming, it was not truly a garden, but a prison.
Now confident in herself, she no longer had doubts. There were still wounds to heal. Yet the soil was ready.
She tore away the veil of her ancestors, burned the limiting beliefs, and, free from inherited ideas, allowed herself to be carried, without guilt, through the streets of the city.
With confidence and grace, she traveled through the olfactory pyramid. In the heart, she recognized the freshness of all that she had always been; at the base, she found the deep marks she still carried: prejudice, fear, remorse, guilt, and the feeling of not belonging. Transforming each wound into wisdom, she extracted the lasting essence that would sustain her forever.
It was then that love and prosperity entered her life. She felt whole, and her soul resonated among undiscovered notes.
Today, on the family sideboard, among framed portraits of flowers that had lost their vitality, hers remains: alive, radiant, and vibrant with color.
And so, through her courage, she earned the title of queen of flowers and finally broke the ancestral curse.
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