By: Gian Garmendia
“Where are we going?” Rose and her mother walked through the castle halls, and Rose pestered Evelyn with questions, frustrated about her sword training being interrupted. Evelyn continued to walk with a calm focused expression.
“Thomas is waiting on me.”
Evelyn’s eye twitched slightly at the mention of Thomas, but still, lacked a response. Rose could only be more annoyed at how little information she was getting. She took a deep breath and decided to patiently wait for her mother to finally explain herself. Until then, it was a quiet walk to their destination. They eventually stopped in front of a brown door, which was curved at the top of the doorway. Evelyn opened the door, and Rose peeked around her mother. The room was a pool of shallow water, with flora draping along the walls, vines having various flowers bloom in patterns along the greenery. In the middle of the room, was a steel bench, with a curly design to the steel. Evelyn removed her small white shoes, placing them neatly to the side.
“Take care to remove yours too.” she lightly spoke.
Evelyn then stepped into the room, her feet submerged in the water that reached up to her ankle. Rose removed her black dress shoes and put them near her mother’s, before following suit. The bench in the middle sat on a rock platform. The platform’s surface was smooth, to refrain from cutting any visitors by accident. Evelyn stepped toward the bench before turning and sitting down. Rose took larger steps to avoid stepping on lily pads within the water, before sitting next to her. Rose looked around the room, taking in the scenery completely. She noticed an abundance of red flowers along the walls. She stared at them, an enigmatic feeling of connection.
Evelyn caught her gaze, and stood from the bench to pick one off the wall. She then returned and offered it to Rose. Rose reached for it, only for her hand to flinch in pain.
Evelyn quietly laughed, “Be gentle.”
Taking her advice, Rose carefully was able to pinch the stem of the flower in between her fingers. She observed it, and realized what seemed to be spikes coming from the stem.
“Is this some sort of trap for someone to prick their fingers?”
Evelyn chuckles at her daughter’s remark, “Some may see it that way, yes. When you pick this flower, if you are not careful, it will hurt you, causing you to believe it is made for harm. But if you are to look a bit closer, its thorns are smaller, the point being closer to the flower. They cannot extend nor retract.”
Rose observes the flower further, and confirms her mother’s tellings.
“Then they’re used for defense?” Evelyn smiled, “Yes, but not for some combative strategy. It merely protects its beauty.”
Rose took a pause, then questioned further, “What about those that intend to harm it? What does it do to them?”
Evelyn looked away from her daughter, toward the rose vine where the flower was picked. “It remains still.” The little girl’s eyes gazed curiously at the stem. “Even if it knows that others come to harm it, it remains still. If it is attacked, it will surely defend. But, only if attacked.”
Evelyn gently turned her child’s head toward her as she cupped Rose’s cheek, brushing her thumb against it with every following sentence.
“No one in this world deserves to get hurt. The flower acts only in self-service, some may assume it is selfish to do so, but in reality, it has made peace with the world.”
Rose looks back down at the flower with intent.
“And every flower has a name. This one, bears yours.” Evelyn’s words began to click in Rose’s head. “Rose.” She looked back at her mother, who now had watery eyes. “You are no sword, you’re my beautiful daughter,” Evelyn’s voice broke slightly, “I never wanted you to see another person’s blood so young, let alone on your hands.” Rose’s pupils turned from slits to small purple dots. “Your father is going to make your brother walk the same path you have, so I need you both to understand this.” Rose’s eyes widened in confusion. Evelyn gave a reassuring smile, “Use those thorns, to protect those you love.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Rose stared at the bandages.
“He plucked off my thorns a while ago. Or, he’s just convinced me I’ve never had them in the first place.”
