#Uhhh my “detective” or s/i to be a scholar™️

[thehistorynut19]

rêverie

In which the rose refuses to slumber

The dusting of her eyelids terrifies her, sparkling up and down her spine.

Clamoring grey matter that sends out flares, rich rose towers, just to taunt her.

She cannot sleep anymore, not when she knows she is here.

To sleep means to be unable to watch the world pass on, the world she missed.

To sleep means to be unable to see the world pass on, the world she missed.

To sleep means to be unable to witness the beauty lain before her very eyes.

Plucked from the fae that dance their merrie ways across the sky, gentile silk and gossamer slippers of irises.

The rose’s petals curl towards the slumbering sun, resting upon the muslin of primrose. How at peace she seems, how the moon shines and kisses her eyelids with blessings of dreams…

Briar Rose only smiles in sucre, to be able to succor these syrups of quiet moments.

Or perhaps she avoids sleep because she fears it.

Fears the darkness that haunted her whence before, the fairy wind that had plucked her own eyes from her sockets just to force them into the ground.

To rot.

And Rose would have done so, if this scholar had not blessed her with such a gentle murmur.

The kiss of no prince, no princess, but a gentle awakening.

The potion had been able to awaken her, yes, but Rose adored to believe it was a sort of fate.

It lead them to one another, those curling thornless thorns that only serve as a pathway of crimson velvet.

Rose stops the moment she hears a stir from the slumbering maiden fair, covered in primrose cotton and dreams woven into her onyx hair.

It’s nigh the morn, she remembers, her love will awaken soon.

The woman of golden flax lets out a small chuckle, leaning over to press a kiss to the lids of her love.

“I’ll make breakfast when you wake up, but sleep more, I’ll awaken you.”

Like you have done for me.