Rose Requiem

In twilight's hush, where shadows dance and play, a maiden fair with roses weaves her way. Her lips, a crimson whisper, soft and low, invite the night's sweet mysteries to flow. The roses, dark and velvety, entwine her hair, a somber crown, a symbol of her lair. Her eyes, like lanterns in the dark, aglow with secrets, beckon all to follow. In this chiaroscuro of light and shade, she reigns, a sovereign of the night's dark glade. Her beauty is a requiem, a mournful serenade, that echoes through the chambers of the heart, a call to surrender to the beauty that lies within. The roses, like tears of blood, fall from her hair, a sacrifice to the beauty that she wears. In this stillness, she is the embodiment of mystery, a guardian of the night's sweet ecstasy.