You walk down the stairs, adjusting your cardigan. It's early summer, and the mornings are still chilly in (c/n). As a new country, your duties consist mostly of administrative paperwork, passing legislation, and forming diplomatic relationships with other countries. However, you still manage to find time for your one true love: gardening.
Your garden is filled with all sorts of plants: fruit trees, grape vines, fragrant herbs, tulips, daffodils, daisies. You even have a special patch you leave free for the wildflowers and mushrooms to take over. Nothing like natural beauty.
But your favourite part of the garden is your rose garden. Several rosebushes line the side of your house. The flowers are unusual colours, hybrids cultivated through several years of careful breeding. Some are blue, some are red streaked with orange, some are a deep, dusky pink, and, sometimes, you might see a lavender one, if you're lucky.
You loved your garden, but you never imagined it was anything special. Anything, that is, until you saw one of your country friends examining your roses one early summer morning.
"England?"
The blond man turns around, emerald eyes meeting yours.
"Ah, _! I do hope you don't mind. I was passing by and noticed the roses. I'm terribly sorry for disturbing you so early in the day…"
You chuckle, waving away concern with your hand. "Don't worry, England. Here, would you like one?" You pick up your shears and pick a deep, royal blue rose, fastening it in one of England's buttonholes. "There. Now you look dashing." England looks at you strangely, and you begin to stumble over your words. "N-not that you didn't l-look good before...I mean, you always...it...I…"
"It's all right, love, I understand." England smiles. "Again, my apologies for trespassing. Please enjoy your flowers."
"Feel free to come back anytime, England."
"Arthur."
"Sorry."
England shifts his weight. "You can call me Arthur. If you like."
"All right, Arthur, then."
Neither of you notice a pair of crimson eyes watching from behind one of the bushes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several days later, you return home from a long meeting with your boss and your country's leaders. You are exhausted, and want nothing more than to have a nice cup of tea and work a bit, perhaps, in your rose garden.
As soon as you turn the kettle on, however, there is a knock at the door. Wiping your hands on a towel, you open the door to find Arthur, armed with a beautiful bouquet of red roses.
"For you, poppet," he says, a wide grin filling his face.
"Oh, er, thank you…?" You take the flowers hesitantly. You don't need a guidebook to tell you the meaning of red roses. You only wonder why Arthur is suddenly being so forward, but brush it off.
"May I come in for a moment, poppet?"
"Er…" Your danger radar is buzzing. "Er, well, I just got home. Everything's a mess."
"I won't be long, poppet."
A part of your brain detects a sickly, sweet smell rising from the roses, but you think nothing of it. The irrational part of your brain takes over, and you open the door wider. "Of course. Come in."
Arthur strolls into the house, making small talk regarding the weather and decor. You nod numbly. Your feet feel heavier than they had a minute ago, and your head is spinning.
"Ah, is that your kettle? I'll turn it off, shall I, poppet?"
You tongue is leaden. You can't move. You can't speak. Your knees give way beneath you, and you fall to the floor, paralysed.
"Didn't care for those roses, so much, did you, poppet?"
You feel the cold steel of a knife run down the back of your neck.
"I can't wait to see Artie's face when he..."
A door slams behind you, and a new voice interrupts the old one. "GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER, YOU BLOODY -"
"Ah, Arthur, glad you could join the party." You are wrenched to your feet, a dagger at your throat. The man holding you no longer resembles Arthur; rather, he appears to be a red-haired man with matching crimson eyes. "One more step, and little (c/n) stops breathing."
Arthur's eyes meet yours. His panic is heart-breaking. "_, I..."
You feel tears swell in your eyes as you recognise the faded flower in his lapel as the one you gave him a few days ago.
Arthur follows your eyes to the flower, his eyes suddenly filling with hope. He removes the flower from his lapel and crumbles the petals in his hand.
"Roccoco bocco banananana ladadadada...
The crumbled petals fly towards you, and the shape-shifter screeches, releasing his hold on you as it flies out the open window. You fall towards the floor, but strong arms catch you before your head hits the tile.
"I'm so sorry..." whispers England. "I'll fix this, I promise."
Your tongue is slowly regaining feeling, and you find yourself able to whisper, "I never thought my roses could be magical."
"Anything you touch is magical, love."