RED ROSE – #flashfictionmagic
Bell had always thought the scent of a red rose looked like iniquity. The one she looked at now had a dozen silky petals unfolding like red bedsheets, its tiny cloud of fragrance curved and dark as blood along its edges. It lay at the edge of her flower stand, its stem threaded between the row of bouquets in crystal vases.
Peering through her eyelashes, she studied the festival crowd that hid the burnt orange bricks of the Piazza. Who would give a flower to a flower seller? And why one that meant passion?
The crowd teemed with flashing white teeth and bare shoulders. No eyes bored into hers from the shadows. No melancholy suitor saluted her over their glass of wine. The crowd was, as ever she wished it, unconscious of her presence.
She took a cleansing breath, letting the lighter fragrances of the other flowers wash over her. The rose must be a mistake. Meant for someone else. She tried to smooth the furrow between her eyebrows.
If only her pulse would stop thrumming and her fingers would stop creeping toward that thorny stem.
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