Rose Requiem

In the velvet darkness, a vision of beauty lies, surrounded by roses, her lips a crimson sigh. Her face, a canvas of porcelain, pale and still, as if the very life had been drained from her will. The roses, like rubies, glow with inner light, a fiery halo that dances through the night. Her hair, a tumble of dark, silken threads, weaves in and out of the blooms, a morbid bridal bed. The shadows cast a spell of mystery and desire, as if the roses have claimed her as their own, and she has become one with their beauty and their fire. In this tableau of beauty and decay, we find a strange, haunting peace, a reminder that in death, there is beauty, and in beauty, there is a touch of the divine.