Will Bear the Moon
*ANASTASIA*
I am in the Rose Garden. But not as it is in waking life. Everything is in bloom—violently, obscenely alive.
Roses spill open around me in thick, silken layers, their petals so saturated with color they seem to pulse with their own heartbeat. Deep crimsons bleed into bruised purples, while tender pinks flush pale as dawn light. Each bloom unfurls like a mouth opening to whisper secrets, their folds heavy and wet with morning dew that clings to my fingertips when I brush past. Some hang pendulous, drunk on their own beauty, hearts swollen and velvet-soft, caressing my bare arms with the intimacy of lovers' touches as I drift between them.
Bab Populer