“You’re ugly,” The rose wrinkled her pretty petals in disdain and glared at the wistful thorn but a few centimeters away,” Your ugliness dulls my beauty; your forlornness my carnation and even after a lifetime of rebuke and abuse, you still persist in your attentions towards me?”
The thorn made to protest, but under the annoyed gaze of the regal flower, merely stammered and fell silent; the rose seizing the chance, went on with her tirade.
“It is an insult to my beauty that such scum as you should linger around me; but I bear, I tolerate your odious presence in my space; alas! was it not for my generosity I would have long ago gotten rid of you – yet, your boldness surprises me; your sneaking, jealousy-borne habits of drawing blood from the fingers of my admirers … makes me so angry that I wish I could have been as cruel as the leaf that flicks away the caressing dewdrop once the sun rises to its full majesty!” The rose continued to gesticulate fiercely; alternatively clutching her petals in a tight huddle and letting go in an angry flourish.
The thorn listened. And listened.
He knew the reproaches would soon come to an end.
“Why can you not stay away!?” The rose finally shouted and huffing loudly, turned her back to the thorn; as if his very countenance was offensive to her highness.
And, at the very moment, when she turned her back, he whispered in a voice that even the most flamboyant critic would not have considered devoid of utmost devotion:
“For the sake of protecting you from those that ever yearn to ruin you.”
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