-needs a Title. I Will Probably Think of One Later On.-

There is a single rose kept high in the vase of her memories she eyes thee rose with despair and sorrow circles around and walks away. The rose withers and petals fall she comes back but has the same thought. Picks up the withering rose, she starts to dance circles around and around with the rose balanced in her palm. -she stops- she starts to cry and she sees streaks of blood fall from her palm the thorns dig deep her tears reach her collar darkness falls, then drags her deep in it's depths.