When The Roses Bleed

O4 | rosalanea

I walk for about ten minutes, and the singing does not stop. I'm feeling more and more compelled every time I hear the song. I've memorized the lyrics.

The singing is getting louder, meaning I'm getting closer.

Soon, I see a cottage in my line of sight. It is tiny and cozy-looking. Everything feels like a fairytale — but I guess this is a dream, after all.

The singing is coming from inside the cottage. This is insane, I think. I don't know what's in there.

But then I remember that this is just a dream, and that I have nothing to fear.

Deciding that I'll be fine, I walk towards the front door of the tiny home. I'm about to knock, but then it creaks open on its own. I bring my hand to the wooden platform, and lightly push it open.

Inside, I see a cozy living room. There is a couch, and a carpet placed in front of it. A woman is sitting down on the carpet, her back facing me. She has long, pitch black hair and skin as white as the moon. She is knitting something while singing.

She is the source of the song.

She stops singing and turns around. I gasp at her eyes — her pupils are blacker than the night sky.

But strangely, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

"Jenna!" she exclaims, seeming overjoyed.

The woman jumps to her two feet and dashes towards me. I tense when I feel her arms around me. She is hugging me.

"You've grown so much!" she says. We stay like that for a few moments. Her hug is warm. She then pulls away and looks at me. Her hand reaches for my face, and she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I've been excepting you," she tells me, in a soft, melodic voice.

She grabs my hand and leads me to the miniature couch. I follow mindlessly, wondering where I've seen her before. She motions for me to sit down, and when I do, she takes the place next to me.

I stare at her. "Who... who are you?" I ask.

She picks up what she was knitting earlier, and continues without looking at me. "You don't remember?" she asks.

I shake my head.

"Well, you were very young." She pauses, looking at me. "I'm your guardian angel!" she exclaims, her tone changing. She made the statement as if it's normal.

My mouth falls agape, "...What?" I face away from her. "Guardian angels don't exist," I say, more to myself than to anyone else.

"Oh, but we do." She giggles, grabbing my hands. Her touch is warm, and this no longer feels like a dream. "Everybody has one; you, Chase and Blair — even your parents! But very few people have the power to connect with them."

My eyes widen, "How do you know so much about me?"

"I've been watching you. That's what guardian angels do." She smiles, "I'm like your... second mother."

Still unconvinced, I inquire further, "Then why are you just showing up now?"

"I've always been there, but just out of sight." She tells me, "But as I recall, we did meet when you were about six years old."

I try to remember.

She grins. "It's me, Rosalanea!"

Then it hits me; Rosalanea was my imaginary friend.