A/N: This is written in first person, Elestra's POV. It's supposed to be a metaphor.
Roses
Something about roses had always held an allure for me. An allure so powerful, a pull so strong that I found myself in the gardens day after day, but especially night after night, when the moon sent its glow across the quaint terracing of the gardens, gladly scattering its moonbeams across the rose garden that I frequented. The garden was painted masterfully with a translucent coat of silvery liquid moonlight and the roses seemed sweet and innocent, but heavy with their fragrance, each bloom laden with the flowery perfume. The night was beautiful, the garden ethereal and other-worldly—it was in fact such a strange, beautiful scene that it frightened me a little, and I wondered bitterly how such beauty could come to be in a cruel world like the one I lived in.
The moonlight threw the scene into sharp relief, shadows flickering across the soft, smooth surface a red rose as a light, balmy breeze played across it, the red rose swaying tantalizingly. The rose was delicately shaped, and this delicateness was contrasted by its robustly crimson color, the petals fanning out perfectly in brilliant color. I reached toward the rose and plucked it, foolishly believing that it could not hurt me. A sharp, shooting pain lanced up my finger and I stifled a pained cry,a drop of blood welling up at the tip of my finger. Roses may seem beautiful and innocent, but from that day I knew that even the most perfect rose will always have thorns.
A/N: See if you can guess what the rose is representing. I think it's rather obvious, but I also wrote it.
