*By Lady Lucritia*

* * * * *

The graveyard was empty, and the moon was high. Its white light cast a ghostly glow over the tombstones, whose eerie shadows covered the ground in darkness. Many of the tombstones were merely crosses or small stones, lost in the past and long forgotten. Newer and bigger gravestones, recent and remembered, were near the back of the graveyard, the stone shimmering in the light of the full moon.

It was a frightening kind of night. This kind of night would be perfect for childish dares and telling scary stories under the stars. The wind even hushed, afraid to move under the scrutinizing gaze of the moon. In this small town, no one would ever expect anyone to go out at this hour. Not with the spirits that roamed the skies and hid among the stars.

The gate of the graveyard creaked open, sighing, as its exhausted hinges were forced to move. A girl, carrying what looked like three red roses, stepped into the graveyard. She walked slowly, lifting her feet with a surprising grace. Her eyes, bright as the stars in the black sky, glistened with sadness and pride. A chain around her neck bedecked a small silver charm shaped like a heart; engraved on it was the name "Juliet."

Juliet stopped in front of a row of three newer graves and knelt in front of the one on the left. She clutched the roses in her left hand tightly, as the index finger of her right hand traced the etching on the stone. Her hand clutching the flowers trembled, as she whispered to the stone.

"It's been too long, Anne. I've wandered too long. I've waited too long. You were the rose of my heart, blooming forever and ever." She laughed sadly. "I remember you always telling me that my words were too flowery and formal. I wonder if you still believe that. I wonder if you thought the poem I wrote for you was beautiful after all. It's so hard to roam here endlessly. I want my sister back."

She kissed the tombstone on the carved inscription: Anne Polson, our star. She then took one of the roses and set it in front of the grave. She looked up at the stars and tried not to cry; the stars were mocking and cruel to her despair. She got up to her feet, not bothering to dust the dirt from her knees. She clasped the remaining two roses in her hands tightly before walking to the tombstone on the right of the center one.

Placing the rose in front of the stone, Juliet stood there, the last rose in both her hands. A shy smile lit up her face, almost hiding the silent misery that masked her eyes. This time she did not kneel. She simply placed a hand on the stone and read the words aloud.

"Christopher Denlark. Rest in peace."

Juliet sighed and shook her head, lifting her hand from the tombstone. Her eyes were now filled with tears. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and clamped her fingers around the last rose she held, the thorns biting into her flesh.

"Those words can't describe you. They're too short, too simple, too-" Juliet's voice trailed off, and a sob erupted from her throat. "Three people. Dead. Your voice, your words, your beautiful, beautiful words, destroyed in one single moment. One single car crash."

Sniffling slightly, she felt the tears, the foreign, cold tears, stinging her cold cheeks. "You told me that I was the rose, and the world was my thorns." She raised her eyes to the moon, watching it sneer at her. "I'm a thorn. I can never rest. There is no mercy for the ones that cut and sting. I continue to wander endlessly. You and Anne were the beautiful roses. I merely harmed anyone who came near you. I destroyed you both. Killed because I didn't watch the fucking road! I still love you. I hope you still love me."

Juliet then walked to the center tombstone. Strangely enough, vines covered it, and the vines were enclosed in thorns. This time, she merely dropped the rose onto the soil, not caring about where it landed. Her eyes lowered, and she stared at her hands. Cuts bedecked her pale hands, yet no blood spilled from the thin wounds. Juliet smirked knowingly and stared at the final tombstone.

"My punishment for killing the two people I most loved?" she asked the quiet moon. "An accident. The thorn doesn't mean to hurt. It means to protect." She scowled. "I hope you're happy. I'm suffering. I was sorry long before I suffered. I will always be sorry."

She turned and left the graveyard.

* * *

The sun rose the next morning, its cheery, rosy light spreading over the graveyard. The three gravestones visited by a lonely wanderer named Juliet were enthroned by the dawn. The three red roses still lay there, bright as spilled blood against the brown soil.

The center tombstone, once bedecked by thorny vines, was now surrounded by a growth of red roses. The green stems holding the ruby red blossoms were free of thorns, and one could easily read the inscription on the tombstone.

"Juliet Polson. Our rose."