The year is 1801.

My story—me, RoseGirl—it’s quite a long story. I suppose time can tell whether or not you would like to hear. Maybe it doesn’t matter—there’s no one out there who can save me anyway. A cursed fate is bound to me.

You see, my family has always been strong believers in the gods and spirits. They’ve always done well. Yet…I wonder why the family curse still remains.

The Rose curse.

History’s told me only so much. Every hundred years, a member is cursed with the mark of the rose, branded and burned into the member’s upper arm. Like mine.

You know every secret in the world. Every kook and cranny of people’s minds. The worst part? No one can stop you. Except yourself.

They say I cry red blood. They say I cast dark magic. They say I am the rising death. Is it true? I wonder.

My father, Samuel; my mother, Dawn; and my baby brother, James—they all hate who I am. All of them turn away from a lost cause. They don’t name me for fear the name will be the word of hate. So I am RoseGirl.

I am always shut inside a room, like a criminal who has committed such that his eyes may never see daylight again. There is never enough food, never enough warmth, never enough light. A burning reminder who I am.

What I am…