Rose Requiem

In slumber, she is crowned with roses, her lips a deep crimson hue. Her skin, a canvas of porcelain, smooth and untouched. The roses, like rubies, surround her, a fiery halo. As she dreams, her beauty is both fierce and fragile. The red roses whisper secrets, their petals soft as skin. In this moment, she is both queen and captive, lost in a sea of velvet blooms. The roses, like her lips, are a deep, burning red, a color that defies the darkness. In this stillness, there is a beauty that is both haunting and serene. The roses, like tears, fall around her, a sorrowful refrain. And in their beauty, we are reminded of the transience of life. For in the end, it is not the years that we live, but the life that we live in those years. The roses, like the passage of time, are both beautiful and cruel. Yet, in their beauty, we find solace, a reminder to cherish every moment. For in the end, it is not the roses that are the true beauty, but the one who wears them. In her stillness, we find a peace that is both profound and unsettling.