The Rarest Tudor Rose

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Testarossa walked gracefully along the marble floor of the garden. Even after the death of her beloved husband, Duke of some land, she held herself with much poise. Her dull black dress made her natural elegance that much more eye-catching against her pale, beautiful, white skin. Although she was still sixteen, her hair was white, that of a Tudor Rose, from which her name, Testarossa, was derived. Her steps were soundless like a swan on a summer's eve pond. She pondered the celestial sky in complete and utter awe of the stars, seeing only beauty in them, and not of her own reflection.

She turned her gaze from the stars to the bushes of red roses starting at her feet and reaching above her arms' length. She plucked a rose from its home and held it tightly to her heart despite the bitter-sweet pain from the rose's thorns. The rose reminded her of her dear husband, how he use to give her a bouquet of roses every morn'. Though it was only a flower, whenever she held it, she could feel the warmth of her love's tight grasp, his body nuzzled against hers. Although it hurt to reminisce on what use to be, never did she wish that she could forget. The rose seemed to speak to her, giving comfort to the pain that attacked her everyday. She released her strangling grasp upon the poor flower, the thorns piercing her porcelain skin as the blood fell to the floor drip by drip. If only she could see his shining face once more.
She heard her sisters call from afar. She tried to yell back, but instead was greeted by a small whimpering yelp. Her lips quivered and her body shook. Her sister eventually found her on her knees crying so hard her eyes were a deeper red than that of the blood the rose spilled. Her sister held Testarossa tighter than she would have for her own dear life.

The cold wind blew carrying her tears with it, but she held tightly to her sadness, because that was also part of her memories and sweet love for him. The tenderness of his skin would be no more. And she wondered if this invisible wound to the heart would vanquish her depression one day, allowing her to come out on the other side okay. The moon fell and the sun started to rise very slowly, the sky turning various shades of pink.
'Why does God wish to be so cruel to me?' Testarossa asked, pleading for an answer. Her sister took time with what she said next and it was a long while until she said anything at all.
'As they say, God works in mysterious ways. Something's you must work through,' she replied trying to be helpful, though the words seemed to be straight from a novel. The doves flew over the sky in a swarm, just as her emotions felt.
'I can't get through this'I shall forever remain his mourning grace.'





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Taran said...
Mar. 2, 2009 at 2:51 pm
Great job. I really liked this. You did a great job everything was easiy to see everything and feel the emotion. Great job and keep on writing!!!
 
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