If there was one thing Luminvale did better than any other village, it was go all-in on a festival.
The morning sun bathed the village in a golden glow, and it looked like someone had dropped a flower bomb on every surface in sight. Petals floated through the air like confetti. Garlands hung from rooftops. Even the scarecrows were dressed for the occasion—one wore a tuxedo made of woven daisies, the other looked suspiciously like it was mid-wink.
Milo stood at the edge of the main square, nervously adjusting his crooked sash (he didn't even know how it got on him—he had woken up wearing it). Around him, villagers bustled like bees in floral aprons.
"Well," said Alma, appearing at his side with a flower-shaped parasol and a biscuit. "You look like a nervous dandelion."
"I feel like a dandelion," Milo muttered. "One puff away from losing it."
Luca, who was attempting to juggle flower pots nearby, added, "Cheer up, Milo! This is your big moment. You're the Festival Perfume Alchemist!"
"That title makes it sound way too official," Milo groaned.
"It is official," Alma said, flipping a piece of parchment at him. "Mayor Flanagan had it printed on today's event schedule. You're listed right after the 'Romantic Goose Waddle Parade.'"
"That... better not be literal," Milo said.
It was, in fact, very literal.
As a line of geese in matching pink ribbons waddled past to the sound of romantic accordion music, Milo swallowed a nervous laugh and braced himself.
The festival had officially begun.
The villagers poured in like syrup at a pancake contest.
Children ran around with flower crowns askew, giggling and smacking each other with streamers. The air was filled with laughter, sugar-dusted pastries, and slightly aggressive accordion solos.
Then came the voice.
"BELOVED CITIZENS!" boomed a theatrical, citrus-scented voice. "WELCOME TO A DAY OF BLOSSOMS, BOUQUETS, AND BARELY CONTAINED EMOTIONS!"
Milo winced as Mayor Flanagan swept onto the festival pavilion, arms wide, mustache twirled to perfection, and robes swirling with embroidered tulips. He held a scroll in one hand and a lemon in the other for some reason.
"This year's theme: Petals, Perfume, and Probably Some Kissing!"
Milo choked on a petal. "That's the theme?!"
"Also printed on the pamphlets," Alma whispered, handing him one. It was covered in glitter and very bold font.
Flanagan continued, "We begin with our opening ceremony—featuring the symbolic unfurling of the Mega Tulip!"
A hush fell over the crowd as a group of villagers dramatically pulled back a giant silk cloth to reveal a massive paper-mâché tulip on a rotating pedestal. It slowly opened.
Inside was Rosie Petalwhiff, striking a pose, perfume bottle in hand.
"BEHOLD—BLOSSOM WHIMSY!" she declared, spraying the perfume in a dramatic arc above her.
The crowd sighed.
Then giggled.
Then clutched their chests and looked at each other like they were seeing everyone for the first time in soft-focus lighting.
Milo panicked. "Oh no. That's the unbalanced version. She used the one I gave her before we added the sachets!"
Luca watched as a baker proposed to a beekeeper mid-dance. "At this rate, we're going to need a marriage license booth."
Rosie twirled. "Love! Fragrance! Emotionally complicated decisions!"
Milo jumped into action. "Time to deploy the emergency sachets!"
The Emergency Sachet Squad, consisting of Milo, Alma, and Luca armed with burlap bags full of herbal dampeners, moved swiftly through the crowd like a very soothing SWAT team.
"Here, hold this!" Milo said, pressing sachets into the hands of villagers mid-infatuation.
"Smell this and think about soup!" Alma called, waving one under the nose of a bard who was writing poetry to a tree stump.
Luca tackled a teenager attempting to serenade his reflection in a pond. "Not today, Narcissus!"
Slowly, the crowd mellowed into a more manageable level of romantic chaos.
Couples still danced. Children still giggled. But now no one was professing love to a scarecrow wearing high heels (again).
Milo collapsed onto a bench, panting. "Crisis... mostly averted."
"Still," Alma said, flopping beside him, "the perfume does make people a little more... expressive."
Across the square, a pair of old ladies were joyfully waltzing, leaving behind a trail of glittering petals.
"Honestly," Luca said, tossing a sachet into the air, "this might be the best festival ever."
By midday, things had settled into full festive swing.
There were food stalls with everything from honey-glazed flower fritters to "romantically charged radish skewers" (courtesy of Farmer Bolo, who believed vegetables could inspire poetry). A fortune-teller offered vague romantic advice while trying to balance a rabbit on her head. A group of acrobats performed midair petal-juggling routines while reciting sonnets.
And of course, Milo had a booth.
It was very obviously cobbled together from leftover planks and garden chairs, with a sign that read: "Milo's Fragrance Fantasies – Please Sniff Responsibly."
"Would you like a tester?" he asked nervously to a passing couple.
The woman sniffed a bottle and sighed. "It smells like first crushes and spring rain."
The man blinked. "I suddenly remember the time I kissed a frog at age five."
They walked off hand-in-hand.
Milo blinked. "...Success?"
He glanced over at Rosie, who was hosting a "Compliment Duel" nearby.
"You're as radiant as morning dew on rose petals!"
"Well, YOU'RE as dazzling as a sunrise on the face of a bashful moon!"
There was cheering, applause, and at least one man overcome with emotion who had to be gently fanned with a banner that read "Love Is In The Air (Literally)."
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the village in golden-pink hues, the air buzzed with excitement for the evening highlight: the Petal Parade.
Milo had been volunteered (read: ambushed by Mayor Flanagan during breakfast with a lemon tart and a speech about "civic glory") to ride a petal-covered float shaped like a perfume bottle, alongside Rosie and a dancing squirrel troupe.
"I'm not sure I should be this visible," Milo muttered, adjusting his too-tight sash and trying not to fall off the float as it rolled down Main Path.
"Nonsense!" Rosie beamed, throwing handfuls of glitter-infused petals into the crowd. "You're the Festival Star! You saved romance! You invented scented inspiration!"
The crowd cheered.
A small child held up a sign that read: "Milo Smells Like Hero!"
Alma and Luca jogged alongside the float, both dressed in semi-matching outfits stitched together from leftover tablecloths and flower garlands.
"This is what victory smells like!" Luca called up to Milo.
"Victory and wild lavender!" Alma added.
Milo laughed, cheeks red. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"
"Nope," they both said in unison.
As night fell, the village square lit up with floating lanterns drifting into the sky like glowing jellyfish. Laughter rang out, and the air was filled with music, perfume, and fireflies.
Mayor Flanagan strode to the main stage with a ribboned scepter and a theatrical flourish.
"My dearest villagers!" he boomed. "Tonight we celebrate love, laughter, and the miracle that none of us accidentally married a bench!"
The crowd roared.
"And now, the final event—our traditional Moonlight Petal Dance! Grab someone, grab something, and dance like the flowers are watching!"
Milo barely had time to move before Rosie grabbed both his hands.
"Dance with me, my perfumed prodigy!" she cried.
"Oh no—"
Too late.
The music began, soft and lilting.
The crowd swayed, petals twirled, and Milo... danced. Terribly. Spectacularly. Like a man trying to wrestle an invisible jellyfish while avoiding his own feet.
But people laughed.
And clapped.
And shouted his name with glee.
"MILO! MILO! MILO!"
Somehow, that made it worse.
And better.
Later, as the festival dwindled into cozy conversations and sleepy singing, Milo sat beneath a tree with Alma and Luca, his sash hanging from a branch and his hair full of glitter.
"I'm going to need twelve years of sleep," he groaned.
"You're the hero of the Spring Blossom Festival," Alma said, nudging him with a smile. "The man who made romance explode... then fixed it with moss."
"You created a memory, Milo," Luca added. "And a perfume that may or may not cause emotional confusion in frogs."
Milo chuckled, eyes fluttering shut. "Think they'll ask me to do it again next year?"
"Oh, definitely," Alma grinned.
"Great," Milo mumbled, already dozing off. "Next year, I'm making a perfume that puts people to sleep instead..."