A beautiful story explaining some things

Once upon a time, on the campus of a small but prestigious university, there was a sorority that was infamous for reasons no one could quite explain. Delta Gamma, or as they were sometimes called by the rest of the Greek system, "The Smelly Deltas," had earned a reputation that wasn't based on their looks, their parties, or even their philanthropy—it was simply because they had a smell.

It wasn't a foul odor, exactly. In fact, it wasn’t an unpleasant smell at all. Some might even say it was faintly floral, with a touch of musk, like a mixture of perfume and something… older. But there was always something distinct about the air around the Delta Gamma house. No one knew where it came from or how long it had been there. It wasn’t confined to any one room, nor was it tied to any particular season. It was just always there.

The smell had become so legendary that prospective members would nervously ask around during rush, and if someone dared bring it up, they’d hear things like, “Oh yeah, that’s just the Delta Gamma scent. It’s part of the tradition, I guess.”

But how had it started?

No one could say for certain, but the story had been passed down through generations of Deltas, a sort of whispered myth that the smell had something to do with the first founding sisters. They were said to have lived in the sorority house long before modern cleaning methods or scented candles were common, and legend had it that they once burned a candle made from a rare, ancient flower. This candle, though it smelled lovely at first, created a mystical, lingering scent that would forever mark the house. But the truth of the story was anyone’s guess.

For years, the smell seemed to permeate every inch of the sorority. When they threw parties, it would hang in the air like a reminder of their unique charm. When the house hosted dinners, the scent would drift into the street, causing pedestrians to glance up in confusion as if they had just passed through an invisible curtain of something oddly familiar but unplaceable.

The sisters of Delta Gamma didn’t mind it, of course. They’d grown up with it, and to them, it was just part of who they were. It was, in fact, a point of pride. They loved the fact that they were so distinct—so different from all the other houses that were always trying to outdo one another with flashy décor and manicured appearances. The Deltas embraced their imperfection.

But the rest of the Greek system was another story.

There were rumors, of course—mostly in the form of friendly teasing. The brothers of Pi Kappa Alpha liked to joke that if you spent too much time at Delta Gamma, your clothes would start to smell like an old bookshop. The girls in Kappa Kappa Gamma would wrinkle their noses and say things like, "You can always tell when someone's been over there."

But no one ever accused the Deltas of being anything but good-hearted. Their parties were wild, their philanthropy efforts were genuine, and their sisterhood was unwavering. They simply embraced the strange, mysterious scent that had become synonymous with their name.

One year, during formal rush week, a new girl named Zoe, who had just transferred to the university, wandered into the Delta Gamma house. She’d heard the rumors and wasn’t sure what to expect. The house looked like a regular sorority house—big, white, and full of smiling faces, all eager to meet her. But when Zoe stepped through the door, she immediately noticed the smell.