DTAE

Instructions

Goddess of roses. Once a beautiful white cat, made all roses grow. For this small rose cat was brown in spring. The seasons lasted long, the cat growing rapidly throughout the spring, summer and autumn. Her roses bloomed within the bushes they presented their neat petals in, until winter cast a white veil across the world, and all turned black and withered, the horrible hue covered in the grasping ice. The goddess watched her beautiful roses perish and suffocate within the white sheets, and she herself was too. No one could see her, for she was as pale as the snow, choked from existence just like her precious flowers. The goddess grew sad and looked in a shadow of depression, her enlightenment of life had flee. She had not before lived this season, and found herself drowning in a sea of helplessness. The shadow she looked in overtook and engulfed her, staining her snow white fur an inky black, until her presence was visible once more, and the only white gleam in her, her eyes. Her sadness had turned to melancholy anger, as she summoned a rare blade that could cut a god, and performed it on her self, she collected her rose-red blood. The red liquid dripped through her black fur, creating dark patterns on her body, as she painted the black rose petals that had died, every one of them. As she had completed her canvas, she realised that she no longer was a goddess of life, but death. A commitment to bring the roses spirits back instead of letting them pass for a new to bud. She never had enlightenment, or never accepted it. For she was eager to hold onto life through death. She knew fine well her flowers were gone. Thus wouldn’t accept it. She knew fine well she had to move on. Thus wouldn’t allow it. She knew fine well she was pretending. Thus wouldn’t stop it. She wore her blood painted roses, she left her rose bush. To find another and paint. On every New Years Moon, all black roses would be red. No being would ever see death ridden on a rose, all deceived by the blood, but the black must show somewhere, and it was forever on the Rose Reaper. A sacrifice she was willing to make. Every life has its death. Every day has its night. Every rose has its thorns. Wrote this at like 1 a.m. less go

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