Nestled deep within a valley whispered to be touched by ancient fae, stood an old cottage. Its walls were built of sturdy, weathered stones, each one a soft, mossy grey, while its thatched roof was a warm, golden-brown, looking like a giant, cosy hay bale. Tiny, diamond-paned windows sparkled like watchful eyes, reflecting the gentle sunlight.
But what truly made this cottage magical was its garden. Instead of a riot of different blooms, a magnificent semi-circle of only calla lilies embraced the front of the house. These weren't just any calla lilies. They were a breathtaking spectrum of colour and grace. Some were the purest, most pristine white, their elegant chalice shapes holding dewdrops like tiny diamonds. Others were a velvety, regal purple, so deep it almost appeared black, contrasting beautifully with their vibrant yellow spadices. There were also lilies in shades of creamy peach, soft rose pink, and even a few rare ones with delicate speckles of crimson.
Their long, emerald green leaves, glossy and heart-shaped, created a lush, verdant frame for the cottage, making it seem as though the house had sprung directly from the heart of this floral embrace. A single, winding stone path, paved with river pebbles of slate grey and warm terracotta, led to the cottage's sturdy wooden door, painted a cheerful robin's egg blue.
The air around the cottage was always sweet with the faint, delicate perfume of the lilies, and a gentle hum of bumblebees, fuzzy and golden, could always be heard. It was a place of quiet beauty and enduring charm, where time seemed to slow, and every morning brought a fresh bloom, guarding the old cottage in a timeless embrace of pure, vibrant colour.
