Thorn
Amberly winced. Her hand recoiled quickly at the thorn that had caught on her skin as she had been reaching for a particularly beautiful rose. Small beads of blood bloomed along the path the thorn had traced and Amberly quickly, and automatically, wiped the drops on her dress.
Picking flowers was generally left for the servants of the palace, but roses had been a rarity when she had been growing up. Her father had only bought one every year, just for her mother's birthday so they had always had a special place in her heart no matter how often they managed to harm her.
She glanced at the flower again, marvelling at its beauty, but not reaching for it. That one would stay where it was, for everyone to marvel at. Amberly could not bear to ask one of the servants to harm themselves simply because she wanted a flower for herself. They would willingly do it, but would also miss the splendour of the perfect rose that had bloomed first.
Somethings were not meant to be selfishly hidden.