Tate Langdon: "I painted it black; I know how you don't like normal things.
Violet Harmon: You're the first boy that ever gave me a flower. Thank you. I love it."
- From American Horror Story, Season 1
Violet stared down at the black rose within her hand. It was delicate and fragile. It's beauty and it's darkness reminded her of Tate, the boy who had given it to her.
There was no one else like Tate. She couldn't deny that she was drawn to him. She needed him like she had never needed anyone before. He had known that she wouldn't like red roses, so he had painted the flower black, just for her. It was the best gift she had ever received. It has black like the dark spaces in her soul. Somehow Tate had seen inside. He knew all her secrets; the ones she could never tell... the secret ones that held all of her sorrow.
"Do you really love the flower, Violet?" he asked.
Suddenly he had just appeared from out of no where as he often did. He was smiling; a little half-smile. His lips were the only color upon his pale face. His eyes were as dark as the glossy petals of the rose.
"I love it," she said again.
She bent forward slightly, her lips lightly brushing his. "Thank you, Tate," she whispered as she pulled away.
His eyes twinkled. He looked the happiest that she had ever seen him. "No, Violet. Thank you," came his soft reply.