Emily Bagshaw

  • Emi Bagshaw

The brasserie had long been a beacon of warmth in a grim, decaying district far from the tourist trails. The fruity aroma of beer emanated from our building, enticing local factory workers seeking refuge. Pierre’s descendants had kept a steady trade despite the odds, stubborn as limpets enduring the tides. But his beloved grandson Lucas, whose name was on the deeds, had abandoned Pierre’s legacy to chase his childish dream of farming. My brother had left me to face the debts and an uncertain future alone. I hold my grandfather’s recipe book and dream of cherry blossom.

Seed by Emily Bagshaw. Image by Blaise Arnold.