Most people say that the color I work into my designs is red. But I disagree. It is the color of the sunrise, of the flowers that bloom every June on the outskirts of Lord Bennet's wheat field. The roses are not the same color as the blood on a battlefield, they blush. They are their own color, they are rose.
Mother always said that roses were perfect. She wanted to name me Rose, for the flowers and for their perfection. Rose for being lovely, but having my thorns to protect myself. She said I should become a rose, even if I was named Ida. It was more sensible, I suppose. She's never told me why.
So that is what I do. I chase rose.
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Chasing Rose
Historical FictionAn arranged marriage, a destitute bride, and a groom who loves another woman. What on Earth could go wrong? ***** Ida Weaver never had anything to her name. She was born a lowly serf and the illegitimate daughter of the lord to boot, and though she...
