The sweet smell of roses sifts through the garden. The sky above: a beautiful mixture of navy blue, oranges, and pinks as the sun sets for the day. A rustle in the rose bushes; her eyes begin to slowly flutter open. She yells out in pain as she grabs her side. Her soft hands met the warm, sticky fluid. Bringing her hands in front of her, she fully opens her eyes. Her head is pounding and she begins to tremble as she sees her crimson covered hands.
She is confused as she looks around, the smell of the roses and her blood filling her nostrils. The fire torches along the garden path casts light as the sun sets and the moon begins to make her way up through the night sky. Her white gown is torn, gashed, splattered with blood and dirt. Gazing down, she sees large streaks of dried blood on the flesh of her bosoms. As she follows them down, they end near her painful open wound. She gasps as she realizes that the bloody streaks look like five large fingers.
She slowly rises up, wincing. She feels her blood running out of her wound, as a sharp pain takes her breath away. Tearing off part of the bottom of her gown, she wraps the long fabric around her waist, screaming out as she stuffs the extra pieces inside the wound. Sweat pouring from her face, breathing fast, and heart racing, she looks around. Her eyes catch a glimmer under one of the rose bushes. Slowly, she crawls over and reaches her arms under the bush.
Her hands touch something cold, hard, and thick. She pulls it out slowly, hearing it glide across the damp grass. Ignoring her pain, she quickly sits up, and eagerly grabs the heavy object. The light blazing from the torches dances off her trusting protector, her brave defender, her loyal friend. Her hands, covered in dried blood, feel stronger as she raises her sharp silver companion before her. She sees her reflection. A sly smile plays on her lips and her light eyes darken as her grip around the hilt tightens.
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