She lowers herself down onto a bed of red roses
Her eyes are a vacant Madonna blue; they stare continuously at the everlasting mirror on the ceiling
Memories of happier times in her life are held back as the thorns dig into her body
A stream of connecting red rivers emerge from her wounds
Wearily she smiles up at the mirror, almost mockingly as she studies her expression
Romeo. Heathcliff. Her knight in shinning armor. Where is he now when she needs him the most?
A silver glint of weaponry reflects briefly in the mirror
Heart hammering, eyes wide, the silver glint disappears into her chest.
On a bed of roses she now lies silently
On Valentines Day.