The Nightingale

by battlenotwithmonsters

A red rose...when all is lost, and winter falls, what will he give for a single red rose? Inspired by the Oscar Wilde fairytale of the same name.

Once upon a time, there was a man who sang so sweetly that he caused the Sun to weep and the moon to hang for a moment longer in the sky before dawn. He sang more sweetly than a nightingale and charmed the sea to cease flowing. But he was not so beautiful as his voice, and hid himself from the world, knowing only loss and hatred.

One day, he heard an angel as he crept through the shadows. "Oh, I would give my life if I but had an angel to guide me!" And he loved the angel, and wished to console her. He sent her a single red rose and spoke to her from the shadows, so that she might hear and know only his voice. Time went on, and he sent her more red roses, and sang to her ever sweeter till dawn touched the sky with rosy hue. He sang so sweetly that the night grew longer to hear his songs. One day, the angel ran away from him, and he sang songs so bitterly lovely that the stars dimmed and the earth trembled. He wanted to give her a single red rose, to tell her...but it was winter, and none were to be found.

He mourned in his dark garden, till a voice came from the earth.

Water me with your blood, sing me your sweetest song, and I shall give you your rose.

And he paused not, for he loved his angel with all his heart. He took a dagger in his hands and pressed it to his veins

Press closer, nightingale, press closer.

And the nightingale sang and drew more blood from his veins. From the earth, a single bloom stretched towards him.

Press closer nightingale, press closer.

And the nightingale sang as his blood poured towards the earth. The rose began to bloom more fully, and was touched by a blush of pink

Press closer nightingale, press closer.

And he sang ever sweeter, letting his blood pour unchecked into the most beautiful red rose ever to be born...

That morning, the angel walked into her room and saw a red rose. Every day there were red roses from him, but today, it was more beautiful than she could have imagined. She took it away to ask her lover what kind it was, thinking to grow more of them.

Deep beneath the earth, the nightingale, drained of his life's blood, sighed his last song to the angel oblivious of the dead bird at her feet. Beside him was a bush covered in blood red roses.