Flowers, Flung Out the Window
"I can't believe I let myself sleep that late", the
hero Rosalyn yawned, stretching as the sun poured in
her window. It was already daylight, maybe eleven
A.M. She usually tried to be up by ten, but at that
time, she had tiredly decided that one more hour
wouldn't hurt anybody.
With a sigh, she flipped back the covers and hopped
onto her carpeted floor, rubbing the sleep out of her
eyes. It was a very warm morning. As she brushed her
golden hair and washed her face, she realized that it
was already beginning to get hot out.
"Perhaps today I'll trade some villain's head for a
reward," she thought aloud as she made her bed and
fluffed her pillow. "And perhaps maybe I'll go to the
beach." She giggled, thinking about the swimsuit in
her drawer which she had secretly been dying to wear.
She turned towards her dresser and began to button on
her usual armor. She probably wouldn't wind up
swimming, she knew, because a hero's work is never
done, and she would not be caught in a tight spot at
the beach, without her armor. That would be
unforgivable. She flipped her hair out from under her
collar.
Turning to reach for her gloves, she glanced briefly
at the bed. What she saw caused all the blood in her
veins to freeze. She stared.
She had not left her room since she made her bed. She
knew that all the windows were closed, and no one
could have opened her door without her noticing.
Nothing could have gotten in or out.
Nonetheless, there on her pillow, was a small,
blood-coloured rose.
Rosalyn looked frantically around the room, trying
desperately to locate it's origin. Finding none, she
snatched the flower off her pillow and looked at it.
It was an ordinary rose, the kind you'd buy out of a
flower shop. there didn't SEEM to be anything magical
about it. For a long time, she stared at it, trying to
decide whether she liked or hated it. Had it been
there all along? But surely it wasn't there when she
made her bed, was it? She racked her brain, trying to
figure out the puzzle.
Finally, crushing the rose angrily in her grip,
Rosalyn decided that it was an insult. She turned
around and flung open the window, sending the helpless
flower flying onto the streets of Madril.
With a scowl, Rosalyn whirled around. Again, she froze
dead in her tracks. Her mouth fell open.
Already on her bed was another rose.
She turned and looked out the window. A story down,
the first rose was laying pitifully on the sidewalk.
Turning again, the second rose was, in fact, on her
blanket. Angrily, she marched over to the bed and
snatched up the botanical mystery. "WHAT do you
WANT?!" She shouted at it, as if it would give her an
answer. She had turned around for three seconds. Where
in the Hell had this second flower come from? NOTHING
could move that fast.
This, she decided, was becoming creepy. Sure, vengeful
ghosts had stalked her before... one had even left a
dead rat, bit in half, on her doorstep with "YOU"
scrawled in blood on the welcome mat. This had
succeeded in giving the hero all the more reason to
defeat the ghost, assaulting her personally like that.
But nothing had frightened and infuriated her like
this before. Something was in her house, and she
wanted to know what.
Belting on her scabbard, Rosalyn drew her sword, and
set the rose down cautiously on her dresser. She began
to search her room, exploring under the bed, behind
the curtains, and behind her bookshelf. No trace.
But while struggling with the bottomless depths of her
closet, Rosalyn failed to notice as behind her,
something stirred. A long, thin black shadow crept
under her door across her carpet, snaking it's way to
the bed. It slithered up her comforter, across the
length of her mattress, and, from it's darkness,
produced another red rose. Depositing the flower on
her pillow, the ominous shadow quickly retreated the
way it had come.
Rosalyn caught a mere glimpse of something dark behind
her door. She looked at her bed. Yes, another rose.
Grabbing it furiously, she kicked open her door,
preparing to stab someone in the eye with it.
Nothing was outside her door, in the hall, or down the
staircase. Her home was silent. Nothing moved. she
dared not breathe, hoping something would give itself
away.
Nothing.
Returning to her room, she slammed the door as loud as
she could and threw the flower against her wall, which
it hit at full speed before tumbling to the floor.
Sheathing her sword, Rosalyn quickly snatched up her
gloves and looked for her boots. No WAY something was
getting out of here alive.
But as she pulled on her gloves, a long shadow slid
under her door and vined up her wall, in plain sight.
She gasped, surprised, as from this blackness, the
form of two-dimensional Stan appeared, grinning, and
from his shadow emerged three-dimensional Stan, his
lips pulled back in a maniacal smile. Before she could
react, he grabbed her wrists and forcefully flung her
against the wall, pinning her there with the weight of
his body, looming over her like the menacing shadow
that he was.
" 'Morning, Woman," he hissed, keeping his evil gaze
on her, less than inches away from her face.
"Let go of me," she replied lowly, so full of rage
that she was actually trembling. She was trying to
pull her wrists free, but his bare strength surpassed
her own. She did not admit to herself defeat. She
refused to be at his mercy. This was a very direct
attack, and he had the upperhand.
"No," he breathed, a coy smirk on his face, "Not yet.
I've come to ask you a question." An untrustworthy
smile spread across his lips as he bent his face close
to her. She could feel his hot breath on her neck,
like that of Death itself. It caused her hair to stand
on end. She shuddered.
"This is a new low for you, Fake Evil Being, sneaking
into a lady's room." She turned her head to the side,
trying to keep her face as far from his as possible.
"Why the flowers, Stan?"
"To distract you," he mused, his every movement making
a sound like a low, evil wind. "And because I knew it
would drive you insane trying to figure out."
"You're becoming more clever. But no more
respectable."
"Thank you."
"Let me go."
"I don't think I will."
"You ass!" she hissed, gritting her teeth. He slowly
released her wrists, but she still couldn't move. Some
kind of malevolent dark force or evil energy held her
tightly against the wall. She really was helpless. The
great hero Rosalyn, defeated by the Evil King Stan, by
way of a sneak attack in her bedroom. She would never
live this down, if she survived.
"This is an unfair attack," she growled. "I wouldn't
have pulled this on you!"
"Well, Hero Woman," he smirked, shrugging elaborately
with a short bow, "When is evil FAIR?" He chuckled
lowly, and pressed his form against her. He ran his
hands down the side of her small body, exploring the
contours of her female form. Then, undoing the first
two buttons of her armor, the evil king slid the
material loose over her right shoulder, and began to
softly kiss up the silky flesh of her chest, neck, and
ear. Her heart rate increased and her chest heaved
with fear. Was he going to rape her?
"Stop touching me!" She hissed through her teeth,
trying to thrash. He held the side of her face in one
hand, her pale, bare shoulder in the other.
"You're a real firefly, aren't you?" He laughed
cruelly, twisting a lock of her hair around his
fingers.
"What do you want with me?" she stammered, trying hard
not to let him see her fear.
"Just an answer," he replied darkly, making little
lovebites on her neck. He raised his head and met her
eyes in an evil gaze. "I want to know," he began
running his fingertips down her cheek, "What you think
of me."
"What do you IMAGINE I think of you?" She snapped back
angrily, "I despise you!" She then boldly spat in his
tan-coloured face.
Stan scowled as his cheek became wet. Frowning, he
brushed the saliva off his face with a kerchief he had
in his pocket. Suddenly, the dark force holding
Rosalyn against the wall intensified crucially, nearly
suffocating her. She gasped, struggling to breathe, as
he stood, looming over her, his dark blonde hair and
wide collar wavering in the force he was creating.
He then released her entirely and she collapsed into
his arms, exhausted. For a long time, he held her
tightly, without saying anything, pressing his body
against hers. He smelled her sun-coloured hair.
Something about him seemed to change as he held her.
Like all malevolence left his body, leaving behind
something else, something different. He was holding
her as if he enjoyed doing so, like nothing else
mattered in the world. Limply, she hung there in his
grasp, without struggling. Why did his aura change so
suddenly? What was his true motive? The universe
disappeared around her. Everything was centered on Stan
and herself.
"Tell me," she finally said calmly, breaking the
silence, "Why you've come."
He sighed heavily, not answering for a while still. At
last he raised his head. Taking her chin in his thumb
and forefinger, he kissed her, hard on the mouth.
Rosalyn was dumbfounded. She had just woken up in her
own bed some twenty minutes ago, and was now in the
arms of her arch nemesis and mortal enemy, with his
lips pressed to hers. Everything she knew to be true
was falling apart. But... she wasn't... as angry as
she would have thought herself to be. She stopped
being angry the moment he wrapped his arms around her.
She could only describe herself now as mellow. And
utterly confused.
Suddenly he answered her question. "Let me have you,"
he stated. Rosalyn's eyes widened and she gasped
shortly. "Let me have you," he repeated, "and I'll let
myself be yours."
He placed his hands on either side of her face,
forcing her to look into his eyes, the colour of a
setting sun. "You cannot deny me," he said sincerely,
"don't try to lie to yourself."
Rosalyn's mind was whirring at all speeds. Was he not
her enemy? This evil being, this... man? Was what he
said true? It couldn't be a lie. She could smell false
intentions from a mile away, she made it her job. He
was honestly opening himself up to her. What did she
truly feel, then, inside the hidden depths of her
soul?
Slowly, she raised her arm, placing a hand on his
face. She then roughly pinched his cheek, as if trying
to rip the flesh off his skull. His heart quickened.
Was this his answer? What did it mean?
But, letting go of his cheek, she brushed her fingers
through his spiked hair, and let her arms fall loose.
He had broken into her home, frightened and violated
her... but now, looking into his eyes, she just didn't
care anymore. He smiled at her then, a genuine smile,
then gently picked her up and lay her across the bed.
Lying next to her with his arms around her, Stan lay
his head on Rosalyn's chest. She rest her arms around
his shoulders, trying to think of what to do next.
This was dangerous. She was right here with her enemy.
Then again, she also had an advantage, she could take
her sword right now and....
But somehow, it didn't matter anymore. Clearly,
though, he had been planning this for some time. but
he just sort of sprung it on her. That was decidedly
unfair. She was a hero, but also a woman, and ought to
be courted properly.
"Well?" He suddenly asked, smirking.
"Well, what?" She replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Tell me what you think of me."
She sighed, brushing the side of his face with her
fingertips. "Maybe," she began, "You aren't as
horrible as I used to think."
He sat up over her, with his arms on either side of
her. "...And?" he smirked.
"AND," she continued, maybe the reason my heart raced
every time I saw you since you gained all your
power... wasn't because I hated you like I originally
thought." As soon as she said it she realized it was
true.
He smiled gently, and pressed his sweet, warm lips to
hers. This time, she kissed back.
"Would you like to know what I think?" He asked. She
shot him a coy look. "And what do you think?"
He smiled at her, and kissed her forehead. "I think
you're beautiful... right down to your little pink
shadow." A dark and mischievous smile crossed his lips,
evil returning to his features. "...But I don't take
back ANYTHING."
Furiously, she slapped him hard across the face. He
laughed hideously as shadows enveloped him. Returning
to his two-dimensional shadow form, he retreated on a
dark path, snaking under the door the way he had come,
leaving behind the echo of insane laughter. Enraged,
Rosalyn lept off the bed, re-doing to two buttons
previously undone. She snatched up the two roses, one
on the dresser and one on the floor, and flung them
both out the open window.
"YOU TRICKED ME!" She shouted out to the streets of
Madril, "You false bastard!! I didn't tell you
anything!! I HATE YOU!"
Just as she knew he would, Stan heard every word. He
chuckled to himself as he listened. Now they both knew
what an "I hate you" from Rosalyn really meant.
Slamming the window shut forcefully, she yanked her
drawer out of her dresser and scattered the contents
angrily across her room. She rooted through every
article of clothing until she finally found her
swimsuit. Today, she decided, she was going to the beach.
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