Pink Roses
They filled her bedroom, teeming on her dresser, her wardrobe, her desk, her night-table, her bookshelves, her windowsill. When every single possible centimeter of space was covered with the beautiful flowers, they overflowed from her bedroom into the rest of the house, filling it with their heady scent. Enchanted to never fade, he had said, as his love for her never would.
She waited and waited for the color to begin to leave even one little rose, one little petal.
But the spell held through.
She is nineteen, and the roses are pink.
As he holds out the diamond ring, kneeling on the elaborate carpet of the parlor, she looks at the roses and makes her choice.
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Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. Its all the work of the great genius JK Rowling.