//Please note this story is under heavy construction! Read at your own risk.//
If you look for perfection, you'll never be content.
~Leo Tolstoy
. . . . . . .
A flower is to be always beautiful lest it is cast away.
A flower is to be innocent and pure.
Delicate in nature, ever to bring squinting smiles to those around.
A flower is perfect. Always perfect.
She was the perfect embodiment of a flower.
Her name, Iris.
A thorn is sharp like a knight's blade.
It inflicts pain and draws blood if one dares to get close.
A thorn protects a flower from the wickedness of the world.
A thorn is attached to the king, ever guarding.
He was the perfect embodiment of a thorn.
His name, Luca.
She was an iris in no need of a thorn and he was a thorn in no need of a delicate iris.
Thrust together by an arranged marriage, the unlikely pair, the thorn, and the flower must now find a way to co-inhabit in the same garden.
Bracing the strength of the winter, will their love and companionship last for the spring season or will the cold betrayal of a parasitic orchid, the overflowing herbicide of lies and the perfect perfection of the Iris trample the delicate budding bloom of their affairs of the heart?