May 13, 1893 - The Annual Potts Flower Show
At eight years old Grace had developed a small independent streak. It was an independence that was tempered by just who Grace was. Which was to say she didn't mind wandering away from her governness or brother these days, but she certainly didn't like to talk to strangers when she did so. In fact Grace was much more willing to take walks on her own, dreaming that she was a grand lady whom all the men wanted to court (which was a dream that if it were to come true when she was older most likely would not be a comfortable situation for her, but as it was she imaged older Grace to be very much like her mother: cool, poised, and not at all nervous of attention). This was precisely what she was doing as she wandered through the paths of the flower show's english garden.
On either side of the paths were brightly colored flowers, reds and yellows, pinks and purples. Grace smiled at how pretty they all looked. And then the first puff of pollen hit her in the face with a spray of bright pink. It surprised her and a small shriek escaped her lips as she jumped backward. But another plant was releasing pollen and soon she was in the middle of a cloud full of streaks of pollen all the colors of the rainbow.
Disoriented Grace waved her arms around her, spinning as she did so. Off balance another small shriek escaped as she tripped and landed on her bum in the middle of the path pollen still blocking her view.
Open to anyone but prefer a child