a flower sprouts, salutes the sun, morphs into an entity of flesh and blood. it is darker than midwinter's glacial embrace, just ominous enough to be appealing.
oxford, 1997. money and respect. flower secretes its soul scent; she puts her nose to it and lets it enchant her. promises do not last once affection takes hold.
buzzing like nitrous, petals sweeping over exposed skin, and it became soft. body floats in their sea. little thorns running across the neck and cheeks. they do not tear, but poison quietly. deceive. indecisive.
the night brings truth - witches dance on the ceiling, color pops and crackles outside the window. a flower cannot flourish forever; it will wilt. so her flower - her witch - it wilted, if it was ever more than a feeling all along.
the scent would linger, be burned into memory like oxford in 97. a shadow flies past, takes the seat beside, and her senses know. nose will never forget.
