Crimson roses slow dance to the breeze on a stage of verdant shrubbery, their dews, sun kissed make them glimmer radiantly, like the redshift stars and galaxies and the rubies in a bijouterie.
The roses were royalty to be admired from far-off, residing in fortresses bastioned and their thorns were the roundshots.
Immediately as the hands breached the curtain the shots were fired without any second thought. They needed no time to be wasted on mentation cause the thorns were their first and last resort.
The thorns stuck to the skin and seeped deep within while some were caught in the overalls, initially they pricked a bit but then the pain, its sensation and they were long long gone.
Little did they know that the thorns stuck and amassed on their bones and rather than supporting their stature, they broke it more.
« Mithridatism can built a resistance to the poisons that you intake. Practise it for an eternity and it would do little to nothing to hamper the stream of poisons that you let your mind exudate. »
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