A Crown Of Thorns And Roses の小説・ストーリー

Would you like to draw a picture for me ? The existence of An, the garden. Looking at all the plants here, and I approached a bunch of thorny roses. The rose plant thrives in lush and colorful flowers. I see this rose with thorns, this is an ordinary rose. It is red, but there are roses that are as red as blood. All the plants that I see here, have their own uniqueness. I stare at the rose in red, I stare at it and stare at it until it doesn't blink.

The scent of roses clung to the air, thick and sweet, but there was nothing gentle in the garden where Serenya had been cast. The blossoms were not flowers at all—at least not natural ones. Their crimson petals shone faintly under moonlight, shimmering with a sheen like wet blood. Their thorns were long, curved like hooks, and when she reached too close to push aside a vine, it snapped forward, drawing a line of red across her wrist.

Giant, deep red, glowing roses. I thrashed, trying to pull myself up, but the damn things had a grip like iron. Every time I moved an inch, they sprawled higher, coiling tighter, dragging me deeper into their grasp. Their petals looked soft, almost beautiful—until I saw the teeth hidden beneath them, snapping dangerously close to my skin. "That woman said the fae world isn't a joke!" I growled, struggling harder. "But she failed to mention the motherfucking sea of carnivorous roses!"

Looking at the other side all I could see red, a bright and beautiful crimson. The red roses dutifuly bared their thorns, blooming, seducing; killing as the tiny flower beneath it spread its' poison without even touching enemy-anemone is poisonous even without him tampering with it, but letting it spread poison is even quicker than letting it work the normal way. Camelias bloom, beautifully but oh so silently, creating a wall none of the frights can cross. And if it tries, grabbing and biting, it chokes, as ranunculus slowly, discreetly tempers with it's nerves, driving it mad.

"What are those busybodies doing?" “Making a crown made of satan. I don't know about those, the power of right." My head spontaneously turned towards the place where I left the flower. At the very top of the cluster of white roses is the interlocking orange Santan. Just like how I did the day Waldo took me to that place.

She shows me her long, painted nails and I can’t help but smirk. “A rose...” I begin, taking one from the box. I made sure that the stems were not completely shaved off, retaining their original beauty, and I brush my thumb down the stem, letting one of the thorns cut into my thumb. “Is breathtakingly beautiful, regal… yet it protects itself with its thorns… but once you get past that exterior…”

Thinking about its meaning alone could let the mind wander. I have imagined its meaning before. But as I stare at it over again, I want to decipher more interpretations of it, even though I end up realizing the same explanation every time. Just after the smoke—or partly mingled with it—is a couple of small butterflies, while a bigger one succeeds them. This one reaches around the middle of her upper back; across the vertebral groove, some of the butterflies pricked by thorns that belong to a rose of thorns. But only the thorns are visible. The rose parts are around the core center of her back that disappears into her vest.

I’d never seen a combination so captivating; it was like he held two different seasons in his gaze. "I have this for you," he chirped, his voice bright as a bird's. He held up a delicate crown woven from wildflowers of the deepest blues and purples. Their scent was a heady rush of night-blooming jasmine and dew-kissed lavender. "May I place it on your head?" "Of course," I breathed, sinking to my knees to meet his height. He let out a delighted giggle, his small hands surprisingly gentle as he settled the crown atop my hair.