You have to understand one thing, to understand anything about me; even from an early age, I had the most terrific sweet tooth. Anything sugary, anything sweet, I devoured just as earnestly as I could; all manner of sweets, chocolates, sugared treats- cakes, buns, and the like. And though I ate these things almost exclusively- I was nothing if not a precocious child, and so utterly spoiled that I was given anything I wanted- I somehow managed to remain relatively healthy, and to keep all my teeth.

As I grew older, I began to create as well as consume; to make my own candies, and chocolates. Chocolates, mostly, I have to admit, though I did venture into candies, too. They weren't my favourite, though- for me, I much preferred the chocolates of the world. The sweet and creamy white; the black and bitter dark; the smooth and gentle milk- and then there were the flavoured chocolates, too; the orange, the mint, and others. Chocolates with flavoured centres, or with pieces of something interspersed in them; the liqueur chocolates, the fruit, the nut.

At first, it was a small-scale thing; a fun little hobby to do, something I could use to get away with being cheap at christmases and birthdays; instead of some expensive gift, I'd whip up a batch of personalised chocolate, plop it into a hand-tied bag, and all my sins were forgiven. Chocolate, as they say, cures all ills, heals all ailments, makes every little thing better.

Which is true, of course; nobody can eat chocolate and be anything other than happy. Perhaps you can be angry, or upset before- or possibly after- but never during. For a brief moment, whilst that sweet little square of pure bliss dissolves on the tip of your tongue, everything is right in the world. That moment is my favourite thing in the world, too- especially when watching someone enjoy something I've made. The second they taste it, when the eyes close, the eyebrows rise, the lips curl into a smile- either fully, or just at the edges.

As soon as I was old enough, I took myself off to the continent, and spent several years travelling the countries, learning the trade of chocolatier from the very best- the Belgians, the Swiss, the French. I learned how to create such delicacies and wonders that to even attempt to describe them would be doing them an injustice; that to try and put to paper anything close to a description would be like trying to describe the full scope of a Van Gogh or a Picasso. Not, of course, that I'd ever claim to be any kind of artist- I was but a chocolatier, a confectioner.

When I grew tired of learning, and decided to put into action my lessons, I retired to a small town in the countryside; the kind of place where everybody knows everybody, and everybody knows everybody's business. As soon as I arrived, even before I'd opened up the little shop, it seemed the place was alight with gossip, all centred round yours truly; who was I, what was I doing there, why had I chosen that little place?

The latter I could answer very easily, of course; my great-great grandmother had lived in the village most of her life, before departing for sunnier climes, and I'd decided to return, and make the family name anew; to once more carve out a niche for us in that corner of the country. Most people had no idea who I was, but some of the older residents- verging on ancient- had known people who had known her, and so, to them, they saw her in the curve of my nose, the tilt of my eyes, the quirk of my smile.

I tell you all this, of course, just so you know a little about me, about where I came from; and why, on the third day of my shop being opened, when the door opened and she walked in, my life changed forever.

I have no idea of plot for this one, gang. I was going for a Chocolat sort of thing, but then I got distracted by The Grand Budapest Hotel, and now you have this ungodly mess of pretentiousness and rambling.

Uh. Hm. If you can pick anything out of this, and think you might want to give something a go, let me know.

Maybe my guy and your girl are descendant of two famously vitriolic families in the place; the last in the line of people who hated each other, perhaps. I dunno.

Same deal as always; if this is up, I'm still looking.