Flowers, Flung Out The Window
"I can't believe I let myself sleep that late", the hero Rosalyn yawned, stretching as the sun poured in her window. It was allready daylight, maybe eleven A.M. She usually tried to be up by ten, but at that time, she had tiredly decided that one more hour wouldn't hurt anybody.
With a sigh, she flipped back the covers and hopped onto her carpeted floor, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It was a very warm morning. As she brushed her golden hair and washed her face, she realized that it was allready beginning to get hot out.
"Perhaps today I'll trade some villain's head for a reward," she thought aloud as she made her bed and fluffed her pillow. "And perhaps maybe I'll go to the beach." She giggled, thinking about the swimsuit in her drawer which she had secretly been dying to wear.
She turned towards her dresser and began to button on her usual armour. She probably wouldn't wind up swimming, she knew, because a hero's work is never done, and she would not be caught in a tight spot at the beach, without her armour. That would be unforgivable. She flipped her hair out from under her collar.
Turning to reach for her gloves, she glanced briefly at the bed. What she saw caused all the blood in her veins to freeze. She stared.
She had not left her room since she made her bed. She knew that all the windows were closed, and no one could have opened her door without her noticing. Nothing could have gotten in or out.
Nonetheless, there on her pillow, was a small, blood-coloured rose.
Rosalyn looked frantically around the room, trying desperately to locate it's origin. Finding none, she snatched the flower off her pillow and looked at it. It was an ordinary rose, the kind you'd buy out of a flower shop. there didn't SEEM to be anything magical about it. For a long time, she stared at it, trying to decide whether she liked or hated it. Had it been there all along? But surely it wasn't there when she made her bed, was it? She racked her brain, trying to figure out the puzzle.
Finally, crushing the rose angrilly in her grip, Rosalyn decided that it was an insult. She turned around and flung open the window, sending the helpless flower flying onto the streets of Madril.
With a scowl, Rosalyn whirled around. Again, she froze dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open.
Allready on her bed was another rose.
She turned and looked out the window. A story down, the first rose was laying pitifully on the sidewalk. Turning again, the second rose was, in fact, on her blanket. Angrilly, she marched over to the bed and snatched up the botanical mystery. "WHAT do you WANT?!" She shouted at it, as if it would give her an answer. She had turned around for three seconds. Where in the Hell had this second flower come from? NOTHING could move that fast.
This, she decided, was becoming creepy. Sure, vengeful ghosts had stalked her before... one had even left a dead rat, bit in half, on her doorstep with "YOU" scrawled in blood on the welcome mat. This had succeeded in giving the hero all the more reason to defeat the ghost, assaulting her personally like that. But nothing had frightened and infuriated her like this before. Something was in her house, and she wanted to know what.
Belting on her scabbard, Rosalyn drew her sword, and set the rose down cautiously on her dresser. She began to search her room, exploring under the bed, behind the curtains, and behind her bookshelf. No trace.
But while struggling with the bottomless depths of her closet, Rosalyn failed to notice as behind her, something stirred. A long, thin black shadow crept under her door across her carpet, snaking it's way to the bed. It slithered up her comforter, across the length of her mattress, and, from it's darkness, produced another red rose. Depositing the flower on her pillow, the ominous shadow quickly retreated the way it had come.
Rosalyn caught a mere glimpse of something dark behind her door. She looked at her bed. Yes, another rose. Grabbing it furiously, she kicked open her door, preparing to stab someone in the eye with it.
Nothing was outside her door, in the hall, or down the staircase. Her home was silent. Nothing moved. she dared not breathe, hoping something would give itself away.
Nothing.
Returning to her room, she slammed the door as loud as she could and threw the flower against her wall, which it hit at full speed before tumbling to the floor. Sheithing her sword, Rosalyn quickly snatched up her gloves and looked for her boots. No WAY something was getting out of here alive.
But as she pulled on her gloves, a long shadow slid under her door and vined up her wall, in plain sight. She gasped, surprised, as from this blackness, the form of two-dimentional Stan appeared, grinning, and from his shadow emerged three-dimentional Stan, his lips pulled back in a maniacal smile. Before she could react, he grabbed her wrists and forcefully flung her against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of his body, looming over her like the menacing shadow that he was.
" 'Morning, Woman," he hissed, keeping his evil gaze on her, less than inches away from her face.
"Let go of me," she replied lowly, so full of rage that she was actually trembling. She was trying to pull her wrists free, but his bare strength surpassed her own. She did not admit to herself defeat. She refused to be at his mercy. This was a very direct attack, and he had the upperhand.
"No," he breathed, a coy smirk on his face, "Not yet. I've come to ask you a question." An untrustworthy smile spread across his lips as he bent his face close to her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, like that of Death itself. It caused her hair to stand on end. She shuddered.
"This is a new low for you, Fake Evil Being, sneaking into a lady's room." She turned her head to the side, trying to keep her face as far from his as possible. "Why the flowers, Stan?"
"To distract you," he mused, his every movement making a sound like a low, evil wind. "And because I knew it would drive you insane trying to figure out."
"You're becoming more clever. But no more respectable."
"Thank you."
"Let me go."
"I don't think I will."
"You ass!" she hissed, gritting her teeth. He slowly released her wrists, but she still couldn't move. Some kind of malevolent dark force or evil energy held her tightly against the wall. She really was helpless. The great hero Rosalyn, defeated by the Evil King Stan, by way of a sneak attack in her bedroom. She would never live this down, if she survived.
"This is an unfair attack," she growled. "I wouldn't have pulled this on you!"
"Well, Hero Woman," he smirked, shrugging elaborately with a short bow, "When is evil FAIR?" He chuckled lowly, and pressed his form against her. He ran his hands down the side of her small body, exploring the contours of her female form. Then, undoing the first two buttons of her armour, the evil king slid the material loose over her right shoulder, and began to softly kiss up the silky flesh of her chest, neck, and ear. Her heart rate increased and her chest heaved with fear. Was he going to rape her?
"Stop touching me!" She hissed through her teeth, trying to thrash. He held the side of her face in one hand, her pale, bare shoulder in the other.
"You're a real firefly, aren't you?" He laughed cruelly, twisting a lock of her hair around his fingers.
"What do you want with me?" she stammered, trying hard not to let him see her fear.
"Just an answer," he replied darkly, making little lovebites on her neck. He raised his head and met her eyes in an evil gaze. "I want to know," he began running his fingertips down her cheek, "What you think of me."
"What do you IMAGINE I think of you?" She snapped back angrily, "I despise you!" She then boldly spat in his tan-coloured face.
Stan scowled as his cheek became wet. Frowning, he brushed the saliva off his face with a kerchief he had in his pocket. Suddenlly, the dark force holding Rosalyn against the wall intensified crutially, nearly suffocating her. She gasped, struggling to breathe, as he stood, looming over her, his dark blonde hair and wide collar wavering in the force he was creating.
He then released her entirely and she collapsed into his arms, exhausted. For a long time, he held her tightly, without saying anything, pressing his body against hers. He smelled her sun-coloured hair. Something about him seemed to change as he held her. Like all malevolence left his body, leaving behind something else, something different. He was holding her as if he enjoyed doing so, like nothing else mattered in the world. Limply, she hung there in his grasp, without struggling. Why did his aura change so suddenlly? What was his true motive? The universe disapeared around her. Everything was centered on Stan and herself.
"Tell me," she finally said calmly, breaking the silence, "Why you've come."
He sighed heavily, not answering for a while still. At last he raised his head. Taking her chin in his thumb and forefinger, he kissed her, hard on the mouth.
Rosalyn was dumbfounded. She had just woken up in her own bed some twenty minutes ago, and was now in the arms of her arch nemesis and mortal enemy, with his lips pressed to hers. Everything she knew to be true was falling apart. But... she wasn't... as angry as she would have thought herself to be. She stopped being angry the moment he wrapped his arms around her. She could only describe herself now as mellow. And utterly confused.
Suddenlly he answered her question. "Let me have you," he stated. Rosalyn's eyes widened and she gasped shortly. "Let me have you," he repeated, "and I'll let myself be yours."
He placed his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look into his eyes, the colour of a setting sun. "You cannot deny me," he said sincerely, "don't try to lie to yourself."
Rosalyn's mind was whirring at all speeds. Was he not her enemy? This evil being, this... man? Was what he said true? It couldn't be a lie. She could smell false intentions from a mile away, she made it her job. He was honestly opening himself up to her. What did she truley feel, then, inside the hidden depths of her soul?
Slowly, she raised her arm, placing a hand on his face. She then roughly pinched his cheek, as if trying to rip the flesh off his skull. His heart quickened. Was this his answer? What did it mean?
But, letting go of his cheek, she brushed her fingers through his spiked hair, and let her arms fall loose. He had broken into her home, frightened and violated her... but now, looking into his eyes, she just didn't care anymore. He smiled at her then, a genuine smile, then gently picked her up and lay her across the bed.
Lying next to her with his arms around her, Stan lay his head on Rosalyn's chest. She rest her arms around his shoulders, trying to think of what to do next. This was dangerous. She was right here with her enemy. Then again, she also had an advantage, she could take her sword right now and....
But somehow, it didn't matter anymore. Clearly, though, he had been planning this for some time. But he just sort of sprung it on her. That was decidedly unfair. She was a hero, but also a woman, and ought to be courted properly.
"Well?" He suddenlly asked, smirking.
"Well, what?" She replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Tell me what you think of me."
She sighed, brushing the side of his face with her fingertips. "Maybe," she began, "You aren't as horrible as I used to think."
He sat up over her, with his arms on either side of her. "...And?" he smirked.
"AND," she continued, "maybe the reason my heart raced every time I saw you since you gained all your power... wasn't because I hated you like I origonally thought." As soon as she said it she realized it was true.
He smiled gentley, and pressed his sweet, warm lips to hers. This time, she kissed back.
"Would you like to know what I think?" He asked. She shot him a coy look. "And what do you think?"
He smiled at her, and kissed her forehead. "I think you're beautiful... right down to your little pink shadow." A dark and mischevous smile crossed his lips, evil returning to his features. "...But I don't take back ANYTHING."
Furiously, she slapped him hard across the face. He laughed hideously as shadows enveloped him. Returning to his two-dimentional shadow form, he retreated on a dark path, snaking under the door the way he had come, leaving behind the echo of insane laughter. Enraged, Rosalyn lept off the bed, re-doing to two buttons previously undone. She snatched up the two roses, one on the dresser and one on the floor, and flung them both out the open window.
"YOU TRICKED ME!" She shouted out to the streets of Madril, "You false bastard!! I didn't tell you anything!! I HATE YOU!"
Just as she knew he would, Stan heard every word. He chuckled to himself as he listened. Now they both knew what an "I hate you" from Rosalyn really meant.
Slamming the window shut forcefully, she yanked her drawer out of her dresser and scattered the contents angrily across her room. She rooted through every article of clothing untill she finally found her swimsuit. Today, she decided, she was going to the beach.
"I can't believe I let myself sleep that late", the hero Rosalyn yawned, stretching as the sun poured in her window. It was allready daylight, maybe eleven A.M. She usually tried to be up by ten, but at that time, she had tiredly decided that one more hour wouldn't hurt anybody.
With a sigh, she flipped back the covers and hopped onto her carpeted floor, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It was a very warm morning. As she brushed her golden hair and washed her face, she realized that it was allready beginning to get hot out.
"Perhaps today I'll trade some villain's head for a reward," she thought aloud as she made her bed and fluffed her pillow. "And perhaps maybe I'll go to the beach." She giggled, thinking about the swimsuit in her drawer which she had secretly been dying to wear.
She turned towards her dresser and began to button on her usual armour. She probably wouldn't wind up swimming, she knew, because a hero's work is never done, and she would not be caught in a tight spot at the beach, without her armour. That would be unforgivable. She flipped her hair out from under her collar.
Turning to reach for her gloves, she glanced briefly at the bed. What she saw caused all the blood in her veins to freeze. She stared.
She had not left her room since she made her bed. She knew that all the windows were closed, and no one could have opened her door without her noticing. Nothing could have gotten in or out.
Nonetheless, there on her pillow, was a small, blood-coloured rose.
Rosalyn looked frantically around the room, trying desperately to locate it's origin. Finding none, she snatched the flower off her pillow and looked at it. It was an ordinary rose, the kind you'd buy out of a flower shop. there didn't SEEM to be anything magical about it. For a long time, she stared at it, trying to decide whether she liked or hated it. Had it been there all along? But surely it wasn't there when she made her bed, was it? She racked her brain, trying to figure out the puzzle.
Finally, crushing the rose angrilly in her grip, Rosalyn decided that it was an insult. She turned around and flung open the window, sending the helpless flower flying onto the streets of Madril.
With a scowl, Rosalyn whirled around. Again, she froze dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open.
Allready on her bed was another rose.
She turned and looked out the window. A story down, the first rose was laying pitifully on the sidewalk. Turning again, the second rose was, in fact, on her blanket. Angrilly, she marched over to the bed and snatched up the botanical mystery. "WHAT do you WANT?!" She shouted at it, as if it would give her an answer. She had turned around for three seconds. Where in the Hell had this second flower come from? NOTHING could move that fast.
This, she decided, was becoming creepy. Sure, vengeful ghosts had stalked her before... one had even left a dead rat, bit in half, on her doorstep with "YOU" scrawled in blood on the welcome mat. This had succeeded in giving the hero all the more reason to defeat the ghost, assaulting her personally like that. But nothing had frightened and infuriated her like this before. Something was in her house, and she wanted to know what.
Belting on her scabbard, Rosalyn drew her sword, and set the rose down cautiously on her dresser. She began to search her room, exploring under the bed, behind the curtains, and behind her bookshelf. No trace.
But while struggling with the bottomless depths of her closet, Rosalyn failed to notice as behind her, something stirred. A long, thin black shadow crept under her door across her carpet, snaking it's way to the bed. It slithered up her comforter, across the length of her mattress, and, from it's darkness, produced another red rose. Depositing the flower on her pillow, the ominous shadow quickly retreated the way it had come.
Rosalyn caught a mere glimpse of something dark behind her door. She looked at her bed. Yes, another rose. Grabbing it furiously, she kicked open her door, preparing to stab someone in the eye with it.
Nothing was outside her door, in the hall, or down the staircase. Her home was silent. Nothing moved. she dared not breathe, hoping something would give itself away.
Nothing.
Returning to her room, she slammed the door as loud as she could and threw the flower against her wall, which it hit at full speed before tumbling to the floor. Sheithing her sword, Rosalyn quickly snatched up her gloves and looked for her boots. No WAY something was getting out of here alive.
But as she pulled on her gloves, a long shadow slid under her door and vined up her wall, in plain sight. She gasped, surprised, as from this blackness, the form of two-dimentional Stan appeared, grinning, and from his shadow emerged three-dimentional Stan, his lips pulled back in a maniacal smile. Before she could react, he grabbed her wrists and forcefully flung her against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of his body, looming over her like the menacing shadow that he was.
" 'Morning, Woman," he hissed, keeping his evil gaze on her, less than inches away from her face.
"Let go of me," she replied lowly, so full of rage that she was actually trembling. She was trying to pull her wrists free, but his bare strength surpassed her own. She did not admit to herself defeat. She refused to be at his mercy. This was a very direct attack, and he had the upperhand.
"No," he breathed, a coy smirk on his face, "Not yet. I've come to ask you a question." An untrustworthy smile spread across his lips as he bent his face close to her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, like that of Death itself. It caused her hair to stand on end. She shuddered.
"This is a new low for you, Fake Evil Being, sneaking into a lady's room." She turned her head to the side, trying to keep her face as far from his as possible. "Why the flowers, Stan?"
"To distract you," he mused, his every movement making a sound like a low, evil wind. "And because I knew it would drive you insane trying to figure out."
"You're becoming more clever. But no more respectable."
"Thank you."
"Let me go."
"I don't think I will."
"You ass!" she hissed, gritting her teeth. He slowly released her wrists, but she still couldn't move. Some kind of malevolent dark force or evil energy held her tightly against the wall. She really was helpless. The great hero Rosalyn, defeated by the Evil King Stan, by way of a sneak attack in her bedroom. She would never live this down, if she survived.
"This is an unfair attack," she growled. "I wouldn't have pulled this on you!"
"Well, Hero Woman," he smirked, shrugging elaborately with a short bow, "When is evil FAIR?" He chuckled lowly, and pressed his form against her. He ran his hands down the side of her small body, exploring the contours of her female form. Then, undoing the first two buttons of her armour, the evil king slid the material loose over her right shoulder, and began to softly kiss up the silky flesh of her chest, neck, and ear. Her heart rate increased and her chest heaved with fear. Was he going to rape her?
"Stop touching me!" She hissed through her teeth, trying to thrash. He held the side of her face in one hand, her pale, bare shoulder in the other.
"You're a real firefly, aren't you?" He laughed cruelly, twisting a lock of her hair around his fingers.
"What do you want with me?" she stammered, trying hard not to let him see her fear.
"Just an answer," he replied darkly, making little lovebites on her neck. He raised his head and met her eyes in an evil gaze. "I want to know," he began running his fingertips down her cheek, "What you think of me."
"What do you IMAGINE I think of you?" She snapped back angrily, "I despise you!" She then boldly spat in his tan-coloured face.
Stan scowled as his cheek became wet. Frowning, he brushed the saliva off his face with a kerchief he had in his pocket. Suddenlly, the dark force holding Rosalyn against the wall intensified crutially, nearly suffocating her. She gasped, struggling to breathe, as he stood, looming over her, his dark blonde hair and wide collar wavering in the force he was creating.
He then released her entirely and she collapsed into his arms, exhausted. For a long time, he held her tightly, without saying anything, pressing his body against hers. He smelled her sun-coloured hair. Something about him seemed to change as he held her. Like all malevolence left his body, leaving behind something else, something different. He was holding her as if he enjoyed doing so, like nothing else mattered in the world. Limply, she hung there in his grasp, without struggling. Why did his aura change so suddenlly? What was his true motive? The universe disapeared around her. Everything was centered on Stan and herself.
"Tell me," she finally said calmly, breaking the silence, "Why you've come."
He sighed heavily, not answering for a while still. At last he raised his head. Taking her chin in his thumb and forefinger, he kissed her, hard on the mouth.
Rosalyn was dumbfounded. She had just woken up in her own bed some twenty minutes ago, and was now in the arms of her arch nemesis and mortal enemy, with his lips pressed to hers. Everything she knew to be true was falling apart. But... she wasn't... as angry as she would have thought herself to be. She stopped being angry the moment he wrapped his arms around her. She could only describe herself now as mellow. And utterly confused.
Suddenlly he answered her question. "Let me have you," he stated. Rosalyn's eyes widened and she gasped shortly. "Let me have you," he repeated, "and I'll let myself be yours."
He placed his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look into his eyes, the colour of a setting sun. "You cannot deny me," he said sincerely, "don't try to lie to yourself."
Rosalyn's mind was whirring at all speeds. Was he not her enemy? This evil being, this... man? Was what he said true? It couldn't be a lie. She could smell false intentions from a mile away, she made it her job. He was honestly opening himself up to her. What did she truley feel, then, inside the hidden depths of her soul?
Slowly, she raised her arm, placing a hand on his face. She then roughly pinched his cheek, as if trying to rip the flesh off his skull. His heart quickened. Was this his answer? What did it mean?
But, letting go of his cheek, she brushed her fingers through his spiked hair, and let her arms fall loose. He had broken into her home, frightened and violated her... but now, looking into his eyes, she just didn't care anymore. He smiled at her then, a genuine smile, then gently picked her up and lay her across the bed.
Lying next to her with his arms around her, Stan lay his head on Rosalyn's chest. She rest her arms around his shoulders, trying to think of what to do next. This was dangerous. She was right here with her enemy. Then again, she also had an advantage, she could take her sword right now and....
But somehow, it didn't matter anymore. Clearly, though, he had been planning this for some time. But he just sort of sprung it on her. That was decidedly unfair. She was a hero, but also a woman, and ought to be courted properly.
"Well?" He suddenlly asked, smirking.
"Well, what?" She replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Tell me what you think of me."
She sighed, brushing the side of his face with her fingertips. "Maybe," she began, "You aren't as horrible as I used to think."
He sat up over her, with his arms on either side of her. "...And?" he smirked.
"AND," she continued, "maybe the reason my heart raced every time I saw you since you gained all your power... wasn't because I hated you like I origonally thought." As soon as she said it she realized it was true.
He smiled gentley, and pressed his sweet, warm lips to hers. This time, she kissed back.
"Would you like to know what I think?" He asked. She shot him a coy look. "And what do you think?"
He smiled at her, and kissed her forehead. "I think you're beautiful... right down to your little pink shadow." A dark and mischevous smile crossed his lips, evil returning to his features. "...But I don't take back ANYTHING."
Furiously, she slapped him hard across the face. He laughed hideously as shadows enveloped him. Returning to his two-dimentional shadow form, he retreated on a dark path, snaking under the door the way he had come, leaving behind the echo of insane laughter. Enraged, Rosalyn lept off the bed, re-doing to two buttons previously undone. She snatched up the two roses, one on the dresser and one on the floor, and flung them both out the open window.
"YOU TRICKED ME!" She shouted out to the streets of Madril, "You false bastard!! I didn't tell you anything!! I HATE YOU!"
Just as she knew he would, Stan heard every word. He chuckled to himself as he listened. Now they both knew what an "I hate you" from Rosalyn really meant.
Slamming the window shut forcefully, she yanked her drawer out of her dresser and scattered the contents angrily across her room. She rooted through every article of clothing untill she finally found her swimsuit. Today, she decided, she was going to the beach.