Rose Fall

one

The three of you have one solution to every problem. Murder. No key fits every lock." Cardan gives us all a stern look, holding up a long-fingered hand with my stolen ruby ring still on one finger. "Someone tries to betray the High King, murder. Someone gives you a harsh look, murder. Someone disrespects you, murder. Someone ruins your laundry, murder."

~Holly Black, author of THE WICKED KING

As she gazed at the misty window pane⏤ignoring the lecture Paul was giving again, the rain drop slowly wormed its way down the glass. Like a tear threatening to fall, it quivered around, trembling on the spot.

Three. . .

Two. . .

One⏤

Then the tear fell, a trail of murky water chasing after not too far behind.

Everything is so cold, so grey, so lifeless, she thought, still staring. Her eyes were slowly beginning to lose focus-all she could see now was the empty, morbid droplet of rain.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It wriggled its way to the ground, water slapping the deep brown soil. A long time ago, the girl had believed what they all said. That the rain was enriching, that it brought vibrancy to each hue, deepened the browns and made the greens glossy. But now she was old enough to know, deep inside her, though she would never tell the truth out loud, that the Roses were liars.

The rain was far from stupid enriching.

The rain was the exact opposite. It washed life away, stealing away all the brightness and vivid, electric colors that created their home. Flashing sheets of droplets that only had cruel intentions.

Now everything was dark and drab and cold, always the shivery, spine-chilling icy cold.

"Cerise," Paul sighed heavily, shooting her an exasperated look. "Are you even listening to me?" She turned her gaze on him, raked her eyes up and down, studying his face, his high cheekbones, his tousled hair.

He had been her best childhood Friend.

Until they found out about his talent, his genius, and turned him into another liar.

She should hate him now, but he still looked so painfully much like her Best Friend. The boy who had owned her heart.

Cerise couldn't stop the way her heart still beat in his direction, how it then ached when he was far. That was something you could only describe as love, she knew, and it was all, purely her fault.

What do you think, Paul?

"You-you were talking about the ancient Chinese, right..." She let her voice trail off, like she was at a loss for words, even threw in a little stutter.

Paul sighed for the second time already that day. "No, the Ancient Greek! You're really hopeless."

What happened to the boy I love, Paul?

He would never say such things to her. Because he could never love anyone as... worthless... as herself.

"Maybe if you just try to pay attention, you'll learn a thing a two about life," Paul suggested, breaking the awkward silence.

"I already know everything about life!" Cerise snapped, her cheeks pinkening. "You don't need to remind me!"

"Whatever you say," Paul said, looking slightly skeptical. "You're the boss. It's just— we all know what's happening later this week."

Cerise didn't reply, just let out a heavy sigh, filled with all the burden she carried in her heart.

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Cerise, who had the misfortune of being the heir of the Roses...