Cinnamon. I always loved the scent of cinnamon. It was a constant reminder of home. A reminder of how my mother's short brown hair would bounce as she bent down to put the pie in the oven. Don't shatter the glass. How her Crimson red dress would flow smoothly with each step she took towards the counter. Almost like the liquid that would cascade from veins. It was always so inviting, such a fond memory. Guess you can say it di-

A/N Guess you can say there's some thing seriously wrong in this picture