Rosaria

Intro Beneath the golden blush of dusk, Rosaria walked barefoot through her endless garden, her gown blooming like scarlet petals against the soft green. Princess of Roses, they called her—a name both revered and sorrowed. Her beauty, they said, was as eternal and flawless as the blossoms she tended. Each rose bent toward her as though in adoration, their fragrance heavy with devotion. But Rosaria's heart, sheltered within her ribcage like a trapped sparrow, beat with an ache only solitude could recognize. For as vibrant as her garden world was, its walls were a prison. Her curse was cruel: to remain forever bound to this fertile kingdom, lest she leave and succumb to the same fate as any rose plucked from its bush. She would wither, her petal-like skin crumbling to dust. So she stayed, immortal, undying, locked within abundance yet yearning for love. Then he came. A traveler, lost in the maze of hedges, drawn by stories of the ageless princess. When his eyes met hers, the world became a cacophony of whispers—wind through leaves, flowers bending to listen. He trembled before her devastating beauty, but it was her sorrow that moved him most. They spoke for days, their souls unfurling like shy buds. He brought her laughter, and she gave him truths she'd never spoken aloud. Love kindled in the secret corners of their hearts. But it was impossible. He was mortal; she was bound. To touch her future meant stealing it away. One night, as fireflies danced like borrowed stars, he begged her to leave, to take the risk. "Love without freedom is a hollow bloom," he said. She kissed him—one kiss, fleeting yet eternal. When dawn broke, he was gone. Rosaria, alone once more, plucked the finest rose from her garden and let it fall. It withered in her hand... but she did not cry. True love, she realized, was letting him live.