𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

Vex'ahlia felt awfully oppressed. She could no longer move, articulate, or even breath. Her hands remained trapped along her body, stiff with terror. She tried to scream, in vain. Nothing could help. She tried to move. But a single movement tore at her skin, a muffled scream of pain, and a dolorous tear. Then she understood, her vision became clearer, she saw at last.

All around her, as close as if it were a tender embrace, long stems of roses imprisoned her to suffocation. Here and there, a few roses remained, rare and occasional scarlet spots, among these bars of thorns that touched her body, brushed against her, caressed her, without hurting her. She recoiled in fear, but in her back, in her hands, in her neck, the thorns, disgruntled, embraced her flesh with fervour, tearing skin and muscles, bleeding her to death. A new muffled scream escaped her throat and dissipated into the black, gaping hole that surrounded her. She looked around in fear to see who could help her. She could not find anyone. Around her, nothing was, nothingness and silence were the only ones to answer her call of distress.

She thought it was a dream, but it was not. Could it be real? She did not know. The only thing that mattered was to get out of here. But how? No action was allowed if she wanted to get out of this place. No help, only her, isolated in this mortal cage, elsewhere, lost, completely alone...completely...alone... She screamed to the point of tearing her vocal cords, but one could have heard a butterfly flying, so silent was she. No sound came out of her mouth.

She panicked, again and again, wiggled, a few spines held her in place. Then she fell silent, and burning tears rolled down her deathly pale cheeks. No one would come. Not her brother, not anyone else. She wanted to fall down, but how could she? All she could do was think. She had the time, for hours she let her thoughts run wild.

But listening only to her heart, dark thoughts shadowed her soul. A brother who had just abandoned her in this cursed cage, a father who had never loved her, friends gone, nothing left for her, all had abandoned her. The more she thought about it, the more the walls of this cage seemed to close in on her, pushing her to curl up on herself. Again. She shakes. Again. She cries. More crying.

When, suddenly, Percival. The name passed through her mind as quickly as a shadow. Desperate, she caught up with him, and clung to that name as to her life. She cried again. Stuck here forever, she would never see him again. She would no longer be able to hear that little intonation of solemn nobility in his voice, which she found as funny as it was charming. She would no longer be able to hear his thousand and one delirious ideas of misunderstood genius, which she herself did not always understand, but whose vitality of spirit she admired. A warmth engulfed her whole being, and she felt the branches slowly loosen.

She would no longer be able to admire that mysterious figure in the bottom of the coat flying on top of a bell tower, a figure of elegant lightness, as athletic as a feline, but as robust as a bear. The heat fades, grief holds her back, and the cage tightens. But she pulled herself together. Why think of him? Of him and not of any other? Any other? But why ask a question that has already been answered? Why ask these questions? She wouldn't admit it, not to him, not to her, not to anyone. But she knew it, deep down... The cage again strangles her in her sobs...

When a cracking sound is heard. Her neck is blocked by the branches, but she looks up helplessly, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She screams, without sound, in the hope that someone will finally notice her, that this timely crack will become a precious help. And someone does. She hears footsteps, then sees one leg come forward, then another: a long coat is dragging behind those legs. She knows, she cries, lifting her head. She does not cry from pain, but from joy.

In front of her, Percival stares at her, his gaze immersed in hers. No words are exchanged, impossible dialogue, but finally Percy speaks, and in a light whisper calls "Vex'ahlia? The called one approaches, bruised from the wounds, but the branches hold her back, oppressing her more and more. She can't hold on any longer, the wait is too long, what is he waiting for to help her? He still said nothing, when she realised that a black smoke was pulling him from behind, too. However, he was freer to move. Then his voice took over the silence: "I know...I know what it is to be trapped, with no way out, with nothing...".

She was listening. She understood. She understood many things. Percival had never really let go of his old demons. That he too had gone through this, through this dreadful fear of abandonment, of isolation, the fear of the past, of the present and of the future. The fear of everything, the fear of nothing, a fear without meaning, but nonetheless there, growing, striking, terrifying... So he stretched out his gloved hand, as she had stretched out her hand to remove his mask once, when he was a prisoner of his demons. A hand that embodied help, hope, compassion...love...

A hand that crept through the bars, grasped hers gently but firmly. Then he said to her, with a light smile, but with a melancholy expression: "It's painful, but it must be done...". She didn't quite understand. What did he have in mind, to go through these brambles? He had to be crazy! She raised a crumpled face again to him, and in his eyes she understood. The difficulty was not in crossing, but in entrusting him to help her. To trust him completely...

She then remembered that moment at Whitestone, Percy in the grip of his most fearsome demons. One sentence: You know who to trust, Percy... A mischievous smile, a glance at her, and he knew how to fight against the evil. He had trusted her, he had trusted himself. He was so terrified of the idea at the time. And she was just as terrified now. She, who had been betrayed so many times, even under the protection of a brother, had never been able to leave her trust entirely to anyone. So she closed her eyes, gained confidence, stood up, and followed the movement of De Rolo's hand. She felt the thorns scratching her, lightly, tingling her cheeks, she clenched her teeth, and then she walked out, but not without some brambles still clinging to her ankle.

But she didn't dare open her eyes, not knowing why. Then she felt arms around her, her
head pressed against a chest. Then she felt the thorny chain on her ankle fall away from her prey, and the smoke from the other dissipate into the dark. They were alone, both of them, intertwined, free of the painful souls that oppressed them in mortal fear...