Short Story: Cherry Blossoms

She plucked the bunch of four cherry blossoms from the pink tree. She said it would be of use to me later on. Then she disappeared.

I inspected the flowers, which looked like roses. They had almost no scent. Did they have pollen that was magical? Would the blossoms never die? I put it aside on the granite table, and looked at it the next morning. The flowers had dried up and become flat, like put underneath a flat weight. The day after that they had shrunk to one-third of its size. The preceding morning I noticed a brownish tinge had blemished its resolute hue. The stems were as stiff and inflexible as twigs. I sniffed them. Now it had a scent, a strong one of herbal tea. The ideal fragrance for a perfume.