All Beauty Dies
Where the wild roses grow ~ Inspired
“The call me the wild rose, but my name is Elisa Day, why they call me the Wild Rose I do not know, for my name is Elisa Day.” ~ Where the wild roses grow
Her transparent cerulean eyes were unreadable, they sparkled with a tinge of life, yet, glazed with a milky, haggardly shade. Skin bloodlessly pigmented, white as snow and un-kissed by the blistering day-star. Bold cheekbones framed her face, leaving it a masterpiece. Lush crimson hair fell perfectly, bouncing around the small of her back. She was uncontrollably primitive, savage, crude and… Wild, like a rose. Maybe that is what gave her such a label. On the outside she was as bright as the auroras but none of that reflected on her internally. On the insides she was as icy as a melancholy winters day. She was the definition of eminence, excellence, transcendence. She was perfection and you would have thought she was fictitious…If she hadn’t of bitten the rose.
All. Beauty. Dies.
