I guess every rose has its thorn.
Just like every night has its dawn.
Just like every cowboy sings a sad sad song,
Every rose has its thorn.
-Poison "Every Rose Has Its Thorn"
Kayte Amell closed the door softly behind her, hands pressed flat against the solid wood door, trembling slightly from the words she just heard. She had known there may be consequences that came with having a relationship with the templar, but she never quite thought they would come to this.
Ghosting across the room, she dug in her pouch laying on her bedroll, finding the long thin vial holding the preserved rose that started it all. Carefully she removed the cork from the top and inverted the vial, allowing the rose to fall out gently into her hand. It still carried the faint floral scent, the softness of the petals...
And a sudden pain took her mind away from the beauty to behold a single thorn remaining on the dried stem, sharp as ever. As if it had scorned her, she threw the rose on the ground, and it feathered across the floor in petrified pieces. As she brought her bloodied hand to cover her eyes, tears mixed with the crimson. As she broke apart inside just as the flower had, she guessed every rose still has at least one thorn