Roses, The dark red, like a flowing sea of blood that was plucked from the earth. The sharp thorns stabbing and swelling all that it touches while the petals of the rose, soft and so very gentle yet we call this the flower of romance. Yet the thorns are sharp but the petals are soft. The flower is not one all wished to touch nor one understands. It is why we call it the flower of romance because, just because it is pretty doesn’t mean it has its thorns.

The flower blow, the wind sways while music blow with the sharp blades of the wind. The air of the soft fall grows louder as the moon rises and the sun falls. The darkness of the night taking over the night as all but one palace still holds it light. The temple known for its beautiful yet its hurtful ways. A god, some may say.

Not many would consider him as a good god. Many calling him the darkest shades of the rose that grows. As he had one special rose, a rose with the dark color of red and the sharpest of thorns. A nymph, that grew from the reddest of roses and the most precious of fields. Kept away from the world that haunts him like a nightmare of terror and death. The world that so longed to kill off his evil mind, so desired to destroy all that he touch.

But, things don’t go the way people plan. Jealousy. anger. betrayal. Yet another wished for you, to hold the gentle petals you formed from. “You dare try and disobey me! You are mine, YOU. DON’T. RUN. FROM. ME.” He yelled like the words had been almost like a spell. The loud roughness and coldness that was hidden so far down seemed to be uncovered like the thorns that you only seem to see till it is all too late.

His way of manner was one of possession, Loyalty, and anger. He saw you as his, and of only his. You, laying as you were in a long red rose dress that spread like an elegant petal, was caressed by the very god you loved, yet so very dearly feared. He had stacked his claim like a tiger claiming its prey, and he was going to show it like the blood that showed after a wound.