The sunny skies echo a warm, summer day. It’s Friday, July 13, 2021. I sit in the garden, watching my sisters play and enjoy the sunshine. It’s a good thing they’re enjoying it now, because you never know what will happen in the future.

My younger sister plucks a black rose from our rose garden and hands it to me with a smile. Her light green eyes, usually sparkling, are beginning to turn dull and cloudy, nearly gray. Yet her classic smile is still present on her face, causing her face to light up like a lightbulb. She still has her energy and youth, and I hope she never loses it. Her loose, soft waves are dragging slightly below her shoulders, and I couldn’t help admire the look.

“You can keep the rose if you’d like,” she says with a smile. 

I gently hand it back to her, placing the delicate flower back in her palm. I trace over her palm with my fingers, tracing a small heart. “Thanks, Whiterose, but you can keep it. You were the one who found the flower after all.” 

“But I was giving that to you, Acacia!” she protests, trying to hand me the rose.

I push it away again. “I appreciate you,” I admit, “but this is the seventh flower you’ve given me.” 

She shrugs. “I know you love flowers, so I figured I’d give you a few.” 

I can’t help but laugh. “This is more than a few, Whiterose.” When she looks at me in disappointment, I gently kiss her forehead. “Not only that, but you know I hate black roses.” 

“Why do you hate black roses?” she asks, resting her head on my shoulder. I embrace her comfortingly, running my fingers through her beautiful veil of hair. 

“Perhaps they just aren’t my thing,” I whisper. “I didn’t think you liked them either, but you’ve been plucking them from our garden recently. I remember when you were even younger, you used to pick the white ones. That’s how you got your name, Whiterose. I haven’t seen you pluck the white ones in a while.” 

“There’s none left,” she complains. “I already picked them all. There’s the black ones and then there’s the pink ones, but my eyes are naturally drawn to the black ones. Perhaps it’s because the color contradicts the white. Maybe that’s why I like them so much,” she shrugs. “They aren’t my favorite, but white roses are beginning to get a bit boring.” 

I look at the garden, where she’s already looking. The natural glow in her eyes is beginning to fade. Her sunkissed skin is beginning to turn pale. 

I’m surprised, especially because she’s spending so much time in the sunshine, specifically in the garden, plucking roses. But I don’t think so much of it. Maybe it’s because she’s staying up later in the summer because there is no school.

“You can pluck me a pink one,” I tell her, nudging her affectionately. She quickly gets up and picks it for me, picking the biggest, most beautiful one there is. I watch as she walks back to me and hands me the rose. 

“Thanks,” I smile. Then I remember. The drawing in Midnight Square is tomorrow. I grab Whiterose and call over her other sister, who’s distracted talking to birds. 

“Raven, get over here please!” I watch her stand up and walk over to me, and I can’t help but see the unease present on her face. I rarely see such an expression on her face, so I begin to feel concerned. “Is something wrong?” I ask as she begins to walk over to me.

She doesn’t respond, like she normally does. No matter how hard I try to get an answer out of her, she will never reply. She just stares at me and into space, as if looking at something. 

Someone, perhaps.

But I think nothing of it. It’s a sunny afternoon in July and nothing will ruin it. “The drawing is tomorrow. It’s a long-standing tradition in our town that we gather at Midnight Square and participate in a drawing. May the odds be ever in your favor.” 

Whiterose replies, “Same with you.”

And with that, I continue to watch them hang out in the garden. I admire the pink rose I was given, and I can’t help but wonder what will happen tomorrow. There is one burning question I have stored in my mind.

Who will win the drawing? 

We will have to wait and see.

***

One eye slowly opens, and then follows the other. The first thing I see outside out of my bedroom window is that there’s a strong gale blowing from the north, which is unusual for a July day in our town. Rain is pouring down upon the black roses in the garden, preparing them for growth. Everything feels right, like how it should.

I slowly pull the covers off of me, knowing that I have to gather my siblings for the drawing. Everyone went every year, even though it wasn’t required to. 

I knock first on Whiterose’s door, and I become baffled when she doesn’t open the door. That’s not like her. That’s never been like her.

I knock again, this time loudly in case she didn’t hear me before. I wait a few seconds, then a few more seconds, until all I hear is the sound of a ticking clock in her room. The clock sounds like it’s going faster and speeding up, but perhaps that’s all a figment of my imagination.

She finally opens the door, and that’s when I see she’s already dressed up for the drawing. Her hair is well put together in a nice bun, with a black rose hair clip attached. It’s a bit unlike her, but I’m excited she’s trying new styles. She’s wearing a pretty floral white dress, pure and innocent, just like her.

“Starting a new fad?” I ask, glancing at her up and down. 

She shrugs her shoulders, and that’s when I see there’s a raven sitting on her clock. It’s just there. It startles me at first, and I’m surprised it doesn’t fly away when it sees me staring. Birds are supposed to be scared. 

“When did that get there?” I ask, peeking at the black omen sitting on the clock. She looks in my direction and smiles. “Oh! That’s my new bird friend. Raven introduced me into birds and I started teaching her about flowers. In exchange, she helped me attract some birds, and that’s one of the birds I attracted. 

I smile and nod, still feeling a little uneasy about the raven. I don’t like birds being in my house, but I suppose Raven owns enough of them.

Speaking of Raven, I knock on her door next, and surprisingly she answers right away. Her once gray eyes are bubbly and light green, totally unlike her. She’s wearing a gorgeous short black dress, also with a floral design.

“You look pretty,” I smile, looking at her outfit up and down. She just smiles at me and nods.

“Thanks Acacia.”

I gather both of them up for the midnight square drawing, but then I hear Raven and Whiterose bickering about each others outfits. 

“I want to wear that dress today,” Raven hisses, pointing at the white dress. “It looks better on me. You should let me wear it today.” 

I stand there listening to them argue until I can take it no longer. “Both of you take the dresses off and exchange them if it’s really important to you.” 

After all, sometimes the dresses look better on the wrong people.

They do, and then it’s finally time to leave for the drawing. 

***

When we arrive at Midnight Square, there’s already a large crowd gathered around the black box. People are chattering about. The usual smiles, laughter, and waves are going about as everyone anticipates the drawing.

“Who’s going to get the paper this year?” Ms.Quest questions.

Nobody answers her question until a tall man steps forward. He rings a bell to silence everyone, and then explains how the drawing is going to work.

“Each person, no matter young or old, will grab a slip of paper from the black box without looking. When you get your paper and make it back to your spot safely, you may open the slip. If you have a black dot on the piece of paper, you win the drawing.” 

Many names go back on the list before I hear someone’s name called. 

“Blackrose,” I hear the man call. When nobody steps forward, I raise my hand.

Without waiting to hear a response, I ask, “Did you mean Whiterose? Her name is Whiterose?” 

“Oh, right, sorry. I was getting confused with her and Raven.” 

“All good,” I reply, lowering my hand as Whiterose steps forward to take a slip of paper out of the box. She hesitates for a moment before she eventually pulls one out. She makes it back to her spot safely.

I get called and then so does Raven and many more other names until we all look at each other and our slips of paper. 

“Who has the black dot?” I whisper, looking at my family. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a small black smear on the slip of paper Whiterose is holding in her hand. Without thinking, I snatch the paper from her and give her my blank one.

The man walks over to me. “Too late for that. I already saw that Whiterose has the paper.” 

I widen my eyes, knowing what this means. Whiterose hesitantly steps forward, and is met with the last moments of her life. 

As we grab stones, specifically the heavy ones, I watch as she holds still without protest. The look in her eyes is calm. Too calm.

I hold the stone in my hand for a few seconds, my hands trembling. I can’t do it. I was supposed to protect Whiterose, not kill her. The stone begins to feel heavier in my hand as I hold it there idly.

Whiterose catches my gaze and looks at me desperately. I want to grab her and take her spot, but it’s too late for that. I can’t give up my life for hers.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, preparing to release the stone from my hand. The crescent moon in my hand begins to get heavier, and I look at it one more time, tracing my hand over it. I realize everyone else has already thrown there stones, and I’m standing there like a helpless lamb.

And as the stone escapes my grip, I can’t help but think to myself. 

God, what have I done? 

It was my stone, my crescent moon shaped rock, that killed her.That ended her life.

Whiterose winces with pain, but only for a few seconds. Soon the life in her eyes drains completely and change to cloudy and gray. At the same time, Raven’s eyes lighten into green and are refilled with a newfound sense of life that I haven’t seen in her for a long time.

It’s just an average drawing at Midnight Square after all, even if tears are escaping from my eyes. 

Even if I lost the key to my heart.

And yet, Raven is smiling eerily.