Poisoned Rosey

Chapter 14: ROSEY

The sincere warmth that tingled and vibrated throughout my body tucked a willing smile on my cheeks.

The flower--Tim said was a lily, smelled wonderful.

It may be winter, but the whole garden was built in a glass building.

Tim said that a garden was a Lady's pride since she's the one who watches over them. Waters them and makes sure that they have enough attention so that they could blossom into the lovely flowers they are meant to be.

I squat down and trailed my index finger across a flower's petals. The skin was smooth and soft.

One flower I do know is a rose. Roses are lovely flowers. But my favorite flower is Dahlia flowers.

We had a lot of those at my old pack.

I reach down at the scissors and softly held the stem, the scissors slicing through.

I bring the rose close to my nose and sniffed it, closing my eyes when the delicate smell reached my nostrils.

"How do they not wilt? It's winter," I stated, furrowing my brows in question.

I'm not complaining, but it's just a thought that seems to cause many unanswered questions.

I tense slightly when Tim squats beside me and gently took the scissors from my hand and cuts himself a rose. He smells it and a beautiful smile curls his lips.

"They say it's a Lady's secret. Maybe it's their natural grace to pamper things. I've asked my mother this, but she never gave me a reasonable answer. This place is the only place that makes her happy and forgets everything. Her comfort place," he explains, a sad glint darkening his eyes.

I purse my lips and looked down at the rose that stem I'm twirling with my index finger and thumb.

A place where she pours all her negative and positive emotions into caring for these flowers. It must be a lot of work, but work she immensely loves to do.

Still, the question remains. What is her secret? Is it some vampire thing? Or truly what the Lady does to care for these delicate flowers.

Only a Lady could know, I presume.

"Does she spend most of her time here? Caring for these flowers?" I ask and I received a nod.

"Yup. But she's sorting out business at the moment so she's not here as much as she's always," he said, "When she does return she'll probably spend most of her time here yet again."

"Your mother sounds kind," I say, but he snorts before dropping the flower to the ground.

I watch it grace down to the ground, its petals flowing in the air.

"Kind to the flowers, yes, but to her family?" he laughs cruelly, "The Lady is a whore."

I widen my eyes in utter astonishment.

It is clear he has minimum respect for his mother but is also very cold when talking about her. Maybe she isn't as kind as people rumors her to be.

He said she was a..., could it truly be? Is the Lady of this Castle unloyal? At the way he talked about her, it seemed adequate.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, turning my attention back to the rose in my hand.

I study the thin veins that are rooted into the paper-thin membrane, noting how easily the skin could be torn apart. Smooth as silk and beautiful as a crystal, yet so breakable as china.

Dahlia flowers are my favorite, but my brother's flower was definitely the Bleeding Heart.

He always said it reminded him of me.