CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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It is Fall now. Black Rose, red blood. It's dripping. It's crying. It flows through the gray clouds, then skids along the black grass. The ground is in need of it's presence, but so are the clouds. The wind is the one to choose, but it doesn't know who loves it more. But when the truth is spoken, nobody loves the rose.
Not but one. Not the clouds above our eyes, or the soft ground benieth our feet, but a mysterious one. A secret admirer from afar. The rose hits the clouds once more. The rose is sad. It is thrown to the grass. A gray weed had pulled it down, hurting the fragile stem. The blood increases, for the blood is the roses tears. The wind swifts it in the air, protecting it.
Nobody but the wind cares for the rose. But they want it, they need it. But the wind cares for it. It whispers songs, cooing and comforting the rose. The rose
loves the wind. It doesn't want the clouds, nor the cold grass below. It wants the wind. The rose cries again. It doesn't have a choice. Only the wind does.
The disgusting weed grabs the stem yet again. This time the stem flies off, giving the sky an idea. It takes the center of the flower, leaving the petals to fall. The wind catches it. The petals, no longer Black Rose, flow through the wind as they will. They will stay forever, flowing. The wind, was a secret admirer. To what?
To Black Rose. The wind continues to sing, to soothe, to comfort. The wind will never let the petals fall. The seasons name is a lie, and now it will forever be named Autumn.
YOU ARE READING
My Vampire, Izzabelle Vampilla.
HumorA girl and her family go on a series of adventures, find love, power, and most of all, a cure.
