"Circuit"
She never liked the roses. She never cared for the roses. They were there, they existed, they represented and personified. They were tools, nothing more, nothing less. Though she appreciated their meaning. As centuries passed, she amused herself with this little spell, this proof of the oddities of the human mind. Because they could not be stretched into her mold, they could not experience the entirety of their world. Because they placed limits and boundaries upon the world, they couldn't fully comprehend what they were doing. But they knew just enough, and they placed the meanings, the feelings, the truth and the lies into small things. So from vials to blood and bone and clay, urns to birds, and all the way down to flowers she passed. A little gift from the Victorians. So it moved, century upon century, although there were constants. She was always garbed in red.
Ohtori was a mirror, and what it reflected was a dreamscape of hopes and fears. She was the Rose Bride, and she would tend her flowers quietly.
Until the time came for them to be discarded.