TW: Suicide, homophobia, knives

The sky ignites as the sun breaks into view, but a certain darkness still lurks in every corner of the shadowy forest.

A hooded figure strides on the damp leaf trail, five yards in front of me. When I saw them pass, I caught a glimpse of them under their cloak. It must be them. But in the woods of Nightlock, you could never be too careful. This was a place where the dead turned to dust and the living turned dead.

Nightlock was a place of magic, of betrayal. A family meeting could turn into a bloodbath. A simple hunting trip could end with a dead body and snake with a bloody knife. And if I wasn’t careful, a meeting between a girl and a lover not improved by a family wrapped in bigotry, could become a nightmare.

Of course this was a bad idea. But I couldn’t resist her beautiful, shining eyes and shy smile. Even if I said no at the beginning, she would have tempted me with her kisses.

I hesitantly approach the figure before me, certain it is her: Rosalie. I watch as she brushes her hand against the flowers, what she was named after, her gentle hands caressing the rose petals.

God, I was in love.

“Alexandria, you are completely irrational when in love.” That’s what she would say whenever I showered her with poems and praises.

I call her name and she turns around. The morning sunlight makes it look as if she is glowing.

She embraces me into her arms. I breathe into her.

This is where I belonged, in her arms. I never knew what home meant before the first time she touched her lips to mine.

I want to stay like this for the rest of my life.

- - - - - -

We sat on a mossy rock as she drew her nimble fingers through my pitch black hair.

If heaven was real, this would be it. Love, true love, sacrificing but safe, passionate but gentle, messy but beautiful.

I untangle her hand from my hair and sit up, facing her.

But her sage green eyes are brimmed with tears.

And she chokes out a sob.

Rosalie throws her arms around me.

She trembles in my embrace and let’s out and anguished cry.

“I’m sorry” she chokes out. “I’m sorry” she repeats it over and over again, more muffled with each holler.

“Sorry for wh-“

“Som-s-s some- someone knows” she chokes out.

Knows what! I want to yell. I want to ask her what they know. I want answers. But she is too messy to get another word out.

Oh shit.

Someone knows about us.

“Who! Who knows?”

She can’t answer. She just chokes on her own tears. This is true pain.

How can I see someone I love, who I breathe, who is the only reason I’m still here be in such pain and not be driven insane?

If someone knows what we do. That we kiss, that we love, that two girls can find the truth in one another. We will be sought after. Not by princes in love, but by killers and destroyers of hope.

I bury my head in her neck and close my eyes, in case the next time I see her, one of us is covered in our own blood.

I don’t see the gleaming blade held by a masked man.

I only realize what has happened when her being begins turning to dust in my hand.

“No, no” I mumble. I can’t seem to form any other words. Nn-no” I get louder and louder. I scream, I cry.

The dust of Rosalie spread into the very the very thing she was named after roses.

Just as fast as the murderer came, they disappear. But I see one thing: a family crest pin.

And it is from my family.

I swear right there in that rose bush to take revenge on my entire family.

That’s what you do when your family murders your home.

I can only think of one way to take revenge on them.

I take the blade from the ground and raise it up to my chest. My last though before the work goes dark is Rosalie.

At least now I know that heaven exists

And she’s their with me.

We can love for all of eternity.