Intertwined
Marcus glanced up from his computer.
"Ooh, whose the admirer?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face.
"Shut up," I laughed, but my cheeks flushed with pleasure. I carefully untied the simple white ribbon, my fingers fumbling with anticipation.
I lifted the lid. And my smile died.
Nestled inside against a bed of stark white tissue paper weren't roses or tulips. They were flowers I'd never seen before. A deep, bruised purple, almost black. The petals were waxy and sharp, the stems twisted and thick with thorns. They looked... violent.
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