a prick on your finger, it hurt more than it should, but it's no matter because you are in no immediate threat of bleeding to death, and it's only a thorn, so how much harm could it possibly do. the answer, of course, was a hell of a lot, but you hadn't realized this and that's okay, you'll just bear the consequences. silly soft skin was suddenly torn by the bush in your garden where the body had landed suddenly, briars and branches ripped straight through the pink flesh and left behind a mutilated something and a puddle of dark and the echo of a scream. be careful, my dear, for the roses are deadly, and one tiny prick can leave you for dead.
