"A Christmas Rose might bloom in Winter, but never a Lily."
Honeysuckle awoke with a jolt. Her head swam from the unsteady sleep and it took her a while to remember who and where she was. A moan crept over her shivering lips. The room was as cold as a grave, an icy breeze fanning her body which even her thick blanket couldn't keep away. Had her maid opened the window? How could she do that, Honeysuckle thought fuming, did that good-for-nothing girl want to kill her? With an effort Honeysuckle raised herself and tried to penetrate the darkness to glance at the window, before she realized that the heavy scarlet curtains were certainly drawn to block out the dull winter night. Sighing deeply, Honeysuckle let herself fall back upon her fluffy pillow. Still the chilly draught persisted. Maybe Pothos had left the door open when he went to bed himself...
Honeysuckle closed her eyes to keep the tears away. Pothos' face unbiddenly appeared before her. His sandy hair, hazel eyes and simple smile - Pothos Wormwood, the handsome but dumb fianc� of Honeysuckle Lily Nightshade, heiress to Nightshade House. He had sat at her bedside last night, as he always had done since Honeysuckle fell ill to this mysterious disease. She wanted to give him credit for this, to think that at least he hadn't already given her up and was practically waiting for her to die, as her useless-at-pretending father was. On the other hand Honeysuckle's mind was poisoned with hushed voices that kept telling her that Pothos' friendliness was only due to his eagerness to marry her before she left this world and thus inherit Nightshade House. And no matter how hard Honeysuckle tried, she could not silence these quiet demons.
Again, an unbidden picture appeared before her; the dialogue she had shared with Pothos this very evening. He had told her about the snow-covered hills and meadows - the flakes had fallen all day and had wrapped the bleak December world in a pure white blanket. Honeysuckle had smiled at him and, playfully at first, had suggested that he should go and pick her a Christmas Rose - her favourite flower. Apalled, Pothos had not failed again to point out to her that this flower was deadly poisonous. "You don't want me to die of hysteria, do you?" Suddenly all the demons in Honeysuckle's head had shouted in unison:"He shall show his sincerity!" And before she was able to dismiss their advice, she had, with a cold, hard glint in her eyes, asked her fianc�:"If you really love me - really and truly - you will go out tonight and bring me what I desire."
Honeysuckle shuffled uncomfortably underneath her blanket. She turned her head sideways and all of a sudden a bright, painful light pierced through her closed eyelids. Honeysuckle yanked herself upright with such a fierce movement that a burning ache surged through her weakened limbs. Ignoring the pain she stared at the little table that was seated close to her bed. Usually it was filled with a lantern, a book, a glass of water and bottles containing her pills and potions. Now the table was empty except for a beautifully manufactured vase made of blackened glass, ornated with diamonds that looked like snowflakes, containing a tall and slender flower with a bright green stem and pure, gleaming white petals.
"So he has gone and brought me a Christmas Rose!" Honeysuckle whispered into the darkness.
"No, he has not."
The voice seemed to float through her room, rippling the air like waves of an ocean, overflowing her as if it wanted to drown her. It was dark and sensuous like velvet, or, Honeysuckle corrected herself, like the soft petals of the flower next to her. She pulled the blanket closer around her but still the flooding feeling persisted. Honeysuckle surprised herself by realizing that she would not really mind drowning in this voice. Actually, she desperately wanted the invisible owner of this voice to speak again.
"He is a coward."
For a few moments Honeysuckle was totally losing herself in this voice again, as if it was a maze made out of deepness and softness and sweetness. She gave a small but delighted laughter and replied:"I know that..."
"Yes, I know that you know. And I know that you want to break free from your engagement."
Honeysuckle drew a sharp breath. These were her innermost feelings, wishes that she had never shared with anybody else but her conscience! Who was this stranger? And why did he know what she longed for, deep inside, hidden in the darkest corners of her soul?
Again the voice answered the questions Honeysuckle did not need to ask. "I am here to help you break free from your chains. I am the one who can make your suffering go away. I can cure you."
The soft rustling of clothes told Honeysuckle that the invisible speaker was moving. She felt a chill rise within her and tried to wrap herself completely into her blanket, like a child believing that he wouldn't be able to see her now.
Of course she was still there, quite fully visible crouching in her bed. Her eyes had already grown accustomed to the darkness of her bedchamber, so she was able to vaguely discern a tall figure draped in a coat of some sort that was rather slowly approaching the top end of her bed. He clicked his fingers, and a shower of blindingly bright, silvery sparks illuminated her bedroom. Honeysuckle blinked fervently, the sudden flashes of light causing coloured dots to dance before her eyes. Finally she was able to see properly again, and as she beheld the looming figure at her bedside, Honeysuckle gasped with surprise.
