The thorns in the rose poked my skin as i picked them for my fresh bouquet. I was going to give it to the princess tomorrow.
Violet Miller
She limped through brush, ever vigilant of the crunch of dry leaves beneath her feet. The brush, much like her dangerous shadow, prickly and tearing at whatever it could reach.
The thorns in the rose poked my skin as i picked them for my fresh bouquet. I was going to give it to the princess tomorrow.
She limped through brush, ever vigilant of the crunch of dry leaves beneath her feet. The brush, much like her dangerous shadow, prickly and tearing at whatever it could reach.