Rose Requiem

In twilight's hush, where shadows dance and play, a maiden lies, entwined in roses' soft array. Her skin, a canvas of serene delight, glows with the gentle kiss of moonlit night. The red roses, like whispers of a lover's sigh, envelop her form, a tender, ethereal tie. Her lips, a promise of secrets untold, curve softly, as if to whisper tales of old. In this dark, velvet sea, she floats, a vision of beauty, lost in roseate reverie. The roses, like sentinels of love and pain, guard her slumber, their thorns a subtle refrain. Her hair, a dark, luxuriant waterfall, cascades around her, a midnight, mystic shroud. The roses, in dark splendor, reign supreme, a floral, funereal wreath, a symbol of a dream. In this still scene, where roses and darkness entwine, the maiden's beauty shines, a light divine.