𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒

|black rose|

Black rose
Mourning
Sadness
Sorrow

Rosé normally dreamt at night. Ever since she could remember, as she'd lain in her bed, eyes pressed closed together with all the weight of slumber, she'd gone on fantastical, improbable journeys-flown with or without wings, leapt among the stars-and, occasionally, those more sinister dreams that shocked her awake, shaking with a quiet fright. Even if she tended to forget each night's dream as the day went on, she awoke nearly each and every morning with the stirring of some vivid dream trailing through her mind.

The first night she spent at Park Manor, Rosé didn't dream.

After being swept away by Park Jimin in his limousine-that ostentatious shark of a vehicle-she'd been led-not only by Jimin himself, but accompanied by two beefy-looking security guards (she supposed)-through the dimly lit mansion, through corridors and up and down various staircases until a door had been opened before her. With a sudden cry she'd found herself being pushed across the threshold-quite rudely, she'd thought angrily-door slamming behind her. The finite click of a lock turning.

She'd truly become captive.

Hostage-

The idea of it hadn't really dawned on her in full until she'd felt the endlessly compressing darkness of the room threaten to engulf her completely.

She'd fumbled around for a few moments, smoothing her hands over the wall until she found a light switch and flicked it on. Squinting her eyes against the bright yellow ceiling light that flooded through the room, Rosé had taken stock of her surroundings, heart rate eventually calming as she realized that she hadn't exactly been cast into a dungeon.

After all, even for Park Jimin, that would have been slightly overdramatic...

The room was spartan. Simple. Plush white carpeting on the floor. Expensive. A large bed with a deep blue coverlet in one corner of the room. Opposite, a pair of drawn curtains before what seemed to be a full-length window. A high, vaulted ceiling-the light emitted from a rather elegant modern chandelier. White curved moldings along every wall-to-ceiling joint. A finely carved wooden chest of drawers against another wall. A low wooden table slightly off-center with two matching chairs placed on either side.

She'd walked into the middle of the room and slipped off her shoes before another door, this one in the corner, nearly hidden by the dresser, and padded over to it, trying to keep her breath even. Her mind had felt murky then, limbs breaking out in pins and needles with surprise as she'd pushed the door open and caught a glimpse of a shiny porcelain tub, its clawed feet rendered down to the minutest detail-a toilet-a sink-

Rosé had swallowed hard as she'd pulled the door closed and walked slowly back into the middle of the room. So I won't even be able to get out to use the bathroom-

I guess it's naive of me to assume he's never had a hostage before-

Well, it certainly wasn't as awful as she'd expected-being spirited away from her home in the night, forbidden from taking any personal possessions-much larger than her room in her owm apartment-

-but sterile. Utterly so.

A cell.

A prison.