Rose Red
Summary: Why are there roses associated with Pegasus's memories? A bittersweet reason.
Roses, such beautiful flowers, yet so mysterious and dangerous as well.
I remember that proverb, on how everything is a rose, there is the beauty, but there are the thorns as well.
You, Cecilia, were like a rose, but had no thorns at all. You were merely the sweet, innocent flower with its intoxicating scent and soft, caressing petals. They were your favorite flowers, I remember only so well.
That night we met, so long ago, we slipped away from everyone else. No one cared, we were just little children, pushed into the elaborate, intricate web of high society. Then we were too young, too naïve to look past the masks of that life, the poison that lay within the soft silk and gleaming gold of grandeur.
I showed you the gardens, enchanting under the silver moonlight. No harsh amber pools from the electric lights or candles fell upon us there. There was only us, the sweet scent of roses, and the soft silvery light of the full moon.
We played there, in a fairyland untouched by harsh reality, where children could keep their innocence, unaware of darker things. Like sprites we ran and danced, to music only we could hear, for it was the sweet gift bestowed to all little children, the tender, flowering imagination unspoiled.
As a symbol of courtship, I always bestowed you with a rose, white, red, any color I could think of. Ah, I remember your eighteenth birthday. I told you to close your eyes and to take my hand. When you opened your eyes once more, a rose was in your hand, as blue as your eyes.
You were taken away from me so quickly, as bitter winter nips away a rosebud as yet unopened. It reminded me of a time when I was being careless in my studio. Cleaning up a little, by chance, my hand brushed against a fully bloomed red rose in a vase. The simple, careless action caused the petals fall off, covering the table beneath them to be covered with carpet of red. Like that, the flower was no more, only a stalk and scattered petals.
It was like you. You were flowering, at the peak of your life, and just harsh touch caused your petals to fly away. The flower was no more.
Why must the innocent be taken first? Why must the most beautiful, most kind, guilty of nothing, be swept away like the petals of a rose in a breeze?
You were my rose, Cecilia, my beautiful flower with no flaws.
Summary: Why are there roses associated with Pegasus's memories? A bittersweet reason.
Roses, such beautiful flowers, yet so mysterious and dangerous as well.
I remember that proverb, on how everything is a rose, there is the beauty, but there are the thorns as well.
You, Cecilia, were like a rose, but had no thorns at all. You were merely the sweet, innocent flower with its intoxicating scent and soft, caressing petals. They were your favorite flowers, I remember only so well.
That night we met, so long ago, we slipped away from everyone else. No one cared, we were just little children, pushed into the elaborate, intricate web of high society. Then we were too young, too naïve to look past the masks of that life, the poison that lay within the soft silk and gleaming gold of grandeur.
I showed you the gardens, enchanting under the silver moonlight. No harsh amber pools from the electric lights or candles fell upon us there. There was only us, the sweet scent of roses, and the soft silvery light of the full moon.
We played there, in a fairyland untouched by harsh reality, where children could keep their innocence, unaware of darker things. Like sprites we ran and danced, to music only we could hear, for it was the sweet gift bestowed to all little children, the tender, flowering imagination unspoiled.
As a symbol of courtship, I always bestowed you with a rose, white, red, any color I could think of. Ah, I remember your eighteenth birthday. I told you to close your eyes and to take my hand. When you opened your eyes once more, a rose was in your hand, as blue as your eyes.
You were taken away from me so quickly, as bitter winter nips away a rosebud as yet unopened. It reminded me of a time when I was being careless in my studio. Cleaning up a little, by chance, my hand brushed against a fully bloomed red rose in a vase. The simple, careless action caused the petals fall off, covering the table beneath them to be covered with carpet of red. Like that, the flower was no more, only a stalk and scattered petals.
It was like you. You were flowering, at the peak of your life, and just harsh touch caused your petals to fly away. The flower was no more.
Why must the innocent be taken first? Why must the most beautiful, most kind, guilty of nothing, be swept away like the petals of a rose in a breeze?
You were my rose, Cecilia, my beautiful flower with no flaws.