Lena was wrapped in the heady scent of roses as soon as she entered her bedchambers. Her eyes went to the bouquet of wild yellow roses that sat by her bedside table but to her sudden consternation; the flowers were beginning to wilt. Bronze and rich golden petals lay around the blue vase that held these floral beauties.
The curtains fluttered as a cold breeze blew in through the windows. Suppressing the shudder that passed through her, she strode towards to the window to shut the glass panes away. Latching it tightly, she turned back to the roses. Every time she looked at them, a warm feeling spread through her heart, bringing in sweet memories of the man who had gifted them to her and the first words she remembered him uttering to her.
"She clings to life as tenaciously as the rose which grows from the cold, inhospitable graveyard soil," spoke the stranger at her side. "A graveyard rose!"
It was astounding to think that a stranger would read her soul so closely when people who had been closest to her had never looked below her societal facade of being the daughter of a noble house. He had given strength to her very spirit as she lay fighting her own death in the mountainous cave of Hijkarden.
With a start, she felt an intense need to preserve the roses that connoted so much to her. They were her first gift from Christopher, who had saved not only her life but her precious sister’s too. Without his aid a few nights ago, she would not have been able to get the nightshade berries that Bella needed for her life-sustaining potion. Christopher had come to mean so much to her in the recent weeks that she was afraid of losing her heart one more time.
In a moment of light headed romance, Lena leaned towards their open core and smelled their fragrance deeply. Eyes fluttering close, she remained ensconced in her momentary surrender to her heart’s desire. The need to preserve those blossoms intensified, bringing with it a wonderful and yet simple solution.
Opening her eyes, she slowly made her way towards the shelves that contained large tomes of history. Choosing the fattest of them all, she heaved it out of its resting place. It turned out to be an old Bible that had belonged to her grandmother. Her injured ribs made it difficult for her to carry the heavy book across the room towards the edge of her bed but she refused to call a servant. The maids were an impertinent lot and would not hesitate to ask her why she needed to haul a Bible in the middle of the afternoon. Besides, she was in no mood to chastise them or explain them why she needed it, for she doubted her own feelings.
Dropping the book on her bed, she took out a pair of scissors from the bottom drawer. Choosing the best rose among the withering blossoms, she picked it out from the vase. As she did so, some more petals dropped on the table top. She used the scissor to cut off the long, sturdy green stem. Placing it aside, she opened the Bible to its middle section. Picking up the rose, she caressed it one last time and placed it on the yellowing page of the tome.
“My feelings and remembrance shall always be preserved now; in this token of affection that he bestowed upon me, filling up the dry desert of my heart with blossoms of ...love,” she declared softly in the silence of her room. With a smile on her lips, she closed the tome.
© 2017 Ginny Clyde
Would you like to read the story behind this? Get it here!
© 2017 Ginny Clyde
Would you like to read the story behind this? Get it here!
Copyright © 2017 by Ginny Clyde
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