"Once upon a…time, once upon a time…There was a rose. It was the sweetest scented rose in the world, but…Every rose had its thorns, and…this one certainly did.
It was the sweetest flower you ever did smell, but no one ever smelled it. They stayed as far away as possible, because…because…whoever smelt the rose became a rose themselves, and soon there was a field of roses…For, though most knew to stay well away, there was always a stray one…
A young child, run from the scolding Nanny's arms…A worn traveler, lost in a strange land…A young man, picking flowers for his beloved…A girl, wandered from her friends…A mother, chasing after the birds that made off with her lunch…Many, many, many that wandered from their daily path, enchanted by the mesmerizing sway of the roses, and a tune only they could hear.
But, as any child would tell you, nothing is ever magic without reason, especially not flowers… And this was no different. For, just over the hill, lived an enchantress. The Enchantress lived in a bewitched castle in the middle of a field of bewitched flowers, and she was alone. Very alone. But people tend to be alarmed by magical beings, and alarmed humans do not make good companions.
However, enchanted ones do. And the enchanted roses were marvelous company, with marvelous tales to tell…'Once upon a time, there was a china doll. She had painted cheeks, and painted lips, and fine, black, painted hair. Her eyes though, were glass, and they were very, very blue. But she had no friend, and she was very sad. She was alone. And she waited, for a friend. No one came.' 'Once upon a time, there was a girl with a silver voice. Everybody obeyed her commands, so bewitched were they. They were captives, but they didn't mind. They adored her. And bewitched people never do mind.' 'Once upon a time, there was an enchantress. She lived with her nephew in a castle isolated from all humans. However, her life was not a lonely one, for she loved her nephew dearly, and gave him all he needed, all he wanted, all he asked. And in her love, she was blind, and in her love, he became a beast. But she remained blind. It was always best to remain blind.'
Still…flowers are not humans…Even if they were once…and their tales are marvelous…And they do not laugh with you when you cry.
Humans, you know, while foolish, and greedy…are kind. And some are wise. This boy was wise. Because…although, although…he could not read, he knew…he knew…that if you could not smell, you could not smell, and that the roses' aroma was rather like a siren's song. If you could not hear it…it could not harm you. I f you could not smell the roses…
He borrowed his father's candle wax. Well, really, he took it, but…His father had plenty of candle wax. And he was bored.
It was uncomfortable, really, only breathing through his mouth. Sometimes, he'd forget, and take in a deep breath through his nose…And for a while, he would choke on nothingness, before he remembered to open his mouth.
The wall was not hard to scale. It was old and unkempt, and vines were allowed to climb up it…And the boy easily found foot-and-hand-holds amongst the crevices and fallen stones.
The boy's head popped over the wall, and soon after came his arms and legs and all, and as he sat, and panted, he looked about, and saw…
A beautiful woman. She had dark, ebony hair and snowy white skin. Her red lips moved softly as she whispered to the roses. 'That's the fourth time you've told me that story, you know.' She said sadly, yearningly. The poor little flower nodded apologetically, and seemed to hurry on. 'Once upon a time…once…once upon a-a time…There was an old garden. All the flowers were grand and old and majestic, but…but…They were cold…And there mistress was lonely…and it did not matter, because…they were beautiful. But it did, really, and she went looking, far and far, far away, and she found, she found, a…she found…a child. And it was her own. Mistress…mistress, do not…do not cry…' for it was a young rose, and it was disposed to to adore its mistress, the one who loved and fed and watered it.
And all the roses wept and moaned, and cried out to their mistress, because…because they were bewitched, and they loved her.
Nonetheless, there was one…one little one…who was quite a dreamer, and gazed up at the sky, and saw…and saw…the boy. And when one knew the other knew, and it shrieked, and her mistress looked, and she saw…and she was even more beautiful, with tears smudging her cheeks, eyes bloodshot, crying, human, she was more beautiful."
No fire can warm a broken heart. No fire, except that of the laughter of a friend.