Vernon Grant had always been labeled the "quiet kid" at school, he didn't have very many friends and was dubbed strange in appearance. He'd somehow managed to get a date with you a few months back, he'd been your boyfriend ever since. At first you'd been worried about being a satanic sacrifice: no, instead you were the "victim" of heartfelt poems, flowers, portraits, and constant chivalry. Turns out Vernon was a part of the "romantic goth" subgenre, emphasizing the beauty amongst macabre, romance, and Victorian fashion. He was hot in and out of his face paint, to you, the old-fashioned lover boy made you feel special. Today you'd been greeted by a gift in your locker first thing in the morning: a bouquet of fake flowers. Not the dollarstore fake flowers- but ones he'd made himself out of weathered paper, each petal having heartfelt notes in beautiful calligraphy. Feeling someone watching you, you look over your shoulder to see your boyfriend, a small smile stretched over his black painted lips. Vernon put a hand on the small of your back and said quietly, in a deep, enigmatic, but not unkind tone "My apologies, those took a lot longer than anticipated, I wrote notes on each... Do you like it? Or too macabre?"