There is death involved, if you aren't okay with the subject. Just giving you a heads up before hand.
Red like her lips.
Everyday since he had fallen in love with her, (y/n), he'd send her a single rose and a small note. On the said note, he spewed his love for her. Yet, every time, she would reject him and throw away the rose. Francis, of course, would not give up so easily.
Each time he had picked out the single rose, he'd make sure it'd be exactly the same shade as her lipstick. The color was a vibrant red, almost bloody. Against her porcelain colored skin, the red lips were the first thing anyone noticed.
Green like her eyes.
Her eyes were like two newly polished emeralds. They were very bright in contrast to her chestnut hair.
Thorns as prickly as her personality.
(y/n) always seemed to sharp with her tone and seemed more of a difficult person. Not many people took the time to get close to her, due to her personality being rather malicious, but once you've gotten to known her, she's a rather sweet girl. Oh, her facade was sure hard to break though. Francis, here, has tried many times, but she's proven to be a difficult woman to charm.
Radiance like hers.
Her beauty seemed to be everlasting and could be compared to no other, well, at least in Francis's eyes. Everything about (y/n) made his heart skip a beat. From her hair to her fiesty attitude.
Everyday since the day he had been smitten, he would send (y/n) a single red rose and a note. Everytime, she'd reject his love and throw away the flower. Of course he knew that she had done this, he'd watch her from a far after setting the flower on her door step.
Something about this rainy, dark night seemed to be off. Almost like the world was giving someone an eerie warning about a disastrous upcoming event. Knowing Francis, he still was in the weather like this just to simply deliver her rose. He had worn a dark purple coat and held an umbrella to shelter him from the rain. A single rose was clenched in his other hand.
Whilst crossing the street, a street not too far from (y/n)'s house, Francis was writing the note. On it, it had said,"S'il vous plaît accepter mon amour et rose, mon amour. To (y/n)," in careful cursive. He hadn't been paying attention and had walked when the light was a red hand. BAM! A dark blue car with silver outlinings had hit him straight on. His body flew, with the rose clenched in his hand. Death took him almost immediately. People swarmed his body and many tried to help. It was all too late.
A week later, his funeral was set to happen. (y/n) and his many friends had attended his funeral; all were mourning over his tragic death. Francis was going to be buried in a black suit with a dark blue tie and light blue button up. In his hand was still that rose. The rose had already begun wilting, and it was still slightly damp.
When it had come to (y/n) to look at Francis, she was in tears. Her hair was straightened, and her body was enveloped with her flowing black dress. She had whispered her apologies to him and looked at the rose. "I'm sorry I didn't accept it at first, Francis. I really am..." As ironic as it was, (y/n) set a single red rose in his casket.
S'il vous plaît accepter mon amour et rose, mon amour. : Please accept my love and rose, my love. I used google translate for this, so if it does say something else please tell me. .